Never Been in Love Before
by Morgana Deryn
Summary: An explosion ended their lives and forced them to start over. Della Moran and Nessie Lowery were girls with pipe dreams of stardom, not soldiering. But when the European Theater beckoned, they decided to put on a show. SteveXOC BuckyXOC
1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, the old Ford pickup truck might have been a dull olive green, but now the color was lost under mud and dents and scrapes and a little bit of rust around the wheel wells. It bounced down the dirt road towards the white farmhouse sitting on the hill.

Nessie hopped up from the rocking chair on the front porch. It banged against the outside of the house as she snatched up her purse and darted for the truck, her loafers clicking on the rocks sunk into the ground to make a sort of walkway. She grabbed the passenger side door handle and kicked the base of the door. She tugged it open and clambered inside, sitting down on the bench seat.

"Della, you need to get the door fixed," she said gently as Della stomped on the gas and they took off down the road towards town, the sun just barely peeking over the horizon.

"Why bother?" Della said reasonably, reaching over to adjust the dial on the radio. It was useless – they wouldn't get any kind of decent reception until they got into town proper, which wouldn't be for another ten minutes. For now, they got Frank Sinatra crooning in and out, just barely audible over the rattling of the truck.

"You're the only one who rides with me, and you know the trick," Della continued.

"Please, it's starting to scuff up my shoes, doing that every morning," Nessie said, looking down at the toes of her shoes and pouting.

"No one's looking at your shoes, they're too blinded by the uniforms," Della said with a scoff.

Nessie and Della were both waitresses at Powers Café, which was the best diner in town. In a town of barely six hundred people, it was also the only diner. The uniform for the waitresses was a light yellow smock-like dress with black and white gingham and the collar, pockets, and cuffs.

"The day Henry gives those up is the day the world ends," Nessie giggled, referring to their boss, who had outright ignored years of complaints about the uniforms and how they showed every little stain, on top of being highly unflattering.

Nessie reached down to Della's purse, sitting in the floorboard by her feet. She pulled it up and dug past the thin pocketbook and the tube of lipstick, pulling out the small book inside.

"Dubliners," Nessie read. "By James Joyce." She flipped through the pages absently. "Anything good in here?"

"Araby has been alright," Della admitted. "Bit depressing, I don't really like it."

Nessie raised an eyebrow as she shoved the book back inside the purse and dropped it back to the floorboard. "But it's alright?"

"From a purely literary perspective… yes."

Nessie rolled her eyes. "Honey, we gotta get you out of here and into a college."

Della snorted. "Yes, and I'll pay for it with what money, exactly?"

"You could get scholarships!" Nessie insisted, grabbing Della's arm. She was quickly shaken off as Della nearly plowed off the road into a weather-beaten fence and the cows beyond.

"Nessie!" Della hissed, blue eyes flashing, and Nessie clasped her hands together in her lap apologetically.

"Sorry, sorry!" she said hastily. "But you could!"

"Scholarships require graduating from high school," Della said shortly. "I only have an eighth grade education."

Nessie rolled her eyes. "Please, you're smarter than anyone else in this town!"

"And what about you?" Della countered. "You've spent hours learning how to dance, teaching yourself, but you don't ever try and get out of here, do you?"

Nessie blushed. "I ain't that good…"

"Please," Della snorted. "If I could kick my leg as high as you could, I'd head straight for the Rockettes."

Nessie sighed. "I guess the truth is we're both stuck here for lack of options," she said glumly, putting her chin in her hand and peering out the window at the rolling green fields they were driving past. She tilted her head. "Tobacco looks like it's coming in well this year."

Della glanced sideways. "It'll be ready for harvest in a week or two, we'll have workers pouring in from all over to help."

"More tips," Nessie said, but her optimism was obviously forced.

"More tips," Della echoed hollowly as they reached town and the radio suddenly sputtered alive again.

" _Oh! I love to climb a mountain, and to reach the highest peak. But it doesn't thrill me half as much  
as dancing cheek to cheek."_

* * *

Della had the key to the place, so she was the one who opened up Powers at a few minutes before six, counting the money in the till while Nessie darted here and there, putting on the coffee and making sure the tables were all clean. At six minutes to six, the cook Jimmy staggered in with two day's worth of stubble and the smell of alcohol on him, clearly still drunk from last night. Della, as usual, welcomed him with a sneer of disgust as he staggered into the kitchen, pulling on his apron as he went.

"You could be a little nicer," Nessie chided as she set out apple and peach pies under glass lids to try and tempt customers. "Jimmy's harmless."

"Jimmy's worse that Cooter Brown," Della countered as she slammed the cash drawer shut. With a sigh, she dug her apron out from under the counter and tied it behind her back.

The moment the clock ticked its way to six o'clock, the door swung open and the first customers of the day began to trickle in. Nessie leaned over the counter, grinning at Della wearily.

"Another day, another dime," she muttered as she headed towards the door. "Hello Shawn!" she chirped to the man who'd just come in the door. "Can I get you a booth?"

Shawn gave a small, tired smile. He was the kind who couldn't really function until he had some caffeine in his system. "No thanks, Nessie, just the factory breakfast and a coffee."

"Comin' right up," Nessie chirped, scribbling it down on her notepad and smacking it down on the window. "Factory special, Jimmy, look alive!" she yelled into the kitchen, and the sound of frying started.

Everybody in the area did one of two things. They either farmed or they worked at the factory. The place made metal parts for pretty much anything they could get a contract for. Automobile parts, I beams, even gun parts on occasion. The factory workers made up the bulk of their early-morning crowd – boys coming in for a little coffee and something quick before heading in to a sixteen hour shift working hot metal.

Jimmy handed the factory special over the window. It was some scrambled eggs and a couple pieces of bacon sandwiched between two slices of toast and wrapped in a napkin, for eating on the go.

Della headed to the coffee machine, pulling a paper cup off the stack and filling it up as far as she dared before carefully carting it over to the register. Shawn gave her another weak smile he handed over the money – he'd been in enough to know how much he owed – and grabbed his coffee. Nessie passed him the food and he was out the door.

The next customer was a scruffy guy in jeans and a baseball cap who sat down wearily at one of the booths. Nessie grabbed a menu and plastered a smile on her face before walking over to him.

"Hi, my name's Nessie, what can I get you to drink?" she asked as she set down the menu.

"Black coffee and eggs?" the man asked hopefully, passing the menu back.

"Scrambled?" she asked.

He nodded. "And bacon?"

"Black coffee, eggs, and bacon coming right up," she said, marking it down and replacing the menu in the stack by the register before tearing the sheet out of her notepad and sliding it through the window to Jimmy.

"Table three just got someone," Della said as she grabbed a cup of coffee for herself and proceeded to drown it in creamer. She took a hearty swig and winced.

"Hot?" Nessie asked innocently.

"Go take the order," Della scowled, gesturing at the table and taking another, smaller sip of her coffee. Nessie giggled as she grabbed a menu and approached the other table.

As the morning dragged on more and more people trickled in. The girls recognized several regulars who filtered in, mostly guys who worked at the same place as Shawn grabbing a coffee and their 'factory breakfast' meal.

The rest of their customers this early in the morning were usually truckers just coming off a long haul, looking for some food and rest. Their parking lot was big and Henry let guys park there and catch some Zs in their trucks if they wanted to, or, if they were feeling fancy, they drove to one of the skuzzy hotels that lined the railroad tracks and grabbed a room for a couple of hours.

Della dropped off a short stack of pancakes at one table, refilled the coffee cup of a guy who looked like he was about to pitch forward asleep into his oatmeal, and dodged a smack on the rear from a particularly rowdy pair of guys.

"Can I tempt you with a coffee for the road or a piece of pie?" Della asked sweetly as she approached the corner table.

"Coffee to go, thanks," grunted the man, already digging in his pocket and looking ready to go.

She nodded. "I'll have it waiting for you at the register," she promised, sliding her tray through the window and putting the empty coffee pot back to refill before fixing up a to-go cup. True to her word, it was waiting by the register when he came up to pay.

He took his coffee thankfully and handed over his money. Della was putting it in the till when the bell over the door rang cheerfully. In slipped a man who wasn't their usual fare. He wore a tweed coat and had a fedora pulled low, tufts of graying hair poking out of the sides. He was clutching a briefcase to his chest and looked more like a twitchy professor than the type they normally got.

"Take a seat and I'll be with you in a sec," Della called to the man. He flinched violently and flushed before nodding and skittering off to a table in the back corner. Della raised an eyebrow at him as he slid into the sticky red pleather booth and began to look around like he expected the boogie man to crawl out from under one of the tables. As one of the people who'd cleaned out from under those tables on occasion, Della could testify that not even the devil himself would hide under one.

"Twitchy, isn't he?" Nessie observed as she set up another round of coffee to run through the machine. "Maybe he's on the lam?" she bobbed her eyebrows hopefully, brown eyes sparking with an adventurous gleam.

Della rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure," she said with a snort, pulling her notepad and pen out of her pocket as she approached Fedora.

"My name's Della, can I get you anything to drink?" she asked brightly as she set the menu down in front of him.

"O-Oh, uhm, c-coffee, please. Bl-Black," he stammered, fumbling with the greasy menu before diving behind it. Not before Della caught a glimpse of the heavy purple bruises under his eyes though.

"Been on the road a while, huh?" she asked Fedora sympathetically.

"Wh-What?" he demanded fearfully. "Wh-Why? Why do y-you ask?"

Della blinked, surprised. Whatever Fedora was on, it was either too strong or not strong enough. "You just look tired it all," she tried to explain. He slumped slightly.

"Oh, o-oh right…" He laughed a little madly. "S-Suppose I do."

Della looked at him sideways. If she had to pick a customer in there right now that she would worry about suddenly going crazy and shooting people, it would be Fedora. Maybe that's what was in his briefcase, which was sandwiched between him and the wall with one hand on it protectively.

"I'll get that coffee and be right over," Della said, giving him one last uncertain look before moving off to grab the plates from a couple of tables.

"Well he seems nice and crazy," Nessie observed as she walked past. She handed Della a damp rag and scooped up the dishes as she went. Della went to work scrubbing the tables while Nessie took the dishes back to the kitchen to be cleaned.

Della finished with the tables and tucked the rag into a bucket under the counter before grabbing a clean cup and pouring some black coffee. She carried the cup over to Fedora and set it down beside him.

"Have you decided what you want to eat?" Della asked a little less cheerfully than usual. Something about this guy was putting her on edge. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was besides his obvious twitchiness. For all she knew he was just some guy getting off a red-eye flight who took a wrong turn, but something told her he wasn't that normal.

"U-Uh…" he stammered, glancing at the menu. "Uh, c-can I get… a short stack… with bacon… and scrambled eggs… and… and a fruit cup? Make that two?"

Della raised an eyebrow as she scribbled down all the food. "Hungry?" she asked wryly. He winced and pressed a hand to his stomach, which gave a loud growl. Della noticed he looked sunken, like he hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks.

"Y-Yeah I just… busy, you know…" He gave a faltering grin before passing her the menu back and ducking under his hat, pressing closer to his briefcase and the wall.

"Right," Della said before moving to put the order in.

"Wow, Fedora's hungry is he?" Nessie asked drily as she slid her own order in.

"Yeah," Della said, frowning. "Something about him makes me suspicious."

Nessie rolled her eyes. "Come on, Dellie, he's probably just some guy who's been on the road a little too long."

"You know, some people go on the road for less-than-legal reasons," she countered. Nessie laughed.

"I swear, you're getting paranoid."

"Not so much with the paranoid if you don't mind," Della huffed as she grabbed up the rag again and moved to scrub some of the tables. The morning breakfast rush was starting to ease, which meant she had a little free time on her hands while Jimmy got together her orders. Della cleaned three tables and cleared the plates from a fourth before making a round with the coffee pot.

"Short stack, bacon, eggs, two fruit cups," Jimmy called, putting the order in the window. Della grabbed the tray, balancing it carefully while she approached Fedora's table. She dimly registered the bell ring over the door and assumed Nessie would get whoever it was while she served Fedora.

"Pancakes, bacon, and eggs with two fruit cups," Della announced as she began to set down the plates and bowls. Fedora looked at the food happily and his stomach rumbled again. Della softened a little – she was probably being paranoid after all. What could he be involved in, anyway? He looked like somebody's underfed accountant.

"Anything else I can get you?" Della asked him, holding the tray against her thighs. Fedora looked up at her.

"No thank you, I-" His eyes slipped past her over her shoulder and he went pale so fast it was like all the blood had just been drained out of him. Sheer terror filled his face before his eyes flicked to Della.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said faintly. "Run while you can, please," he begged.

Confusion reigned. "Run?" Della asked in disbelief. "I don't…"

Nessie screamed and Della turned around just in time for something to smack into her temple. Her head exploded in stars and she toppled into the booth across from Fedora. Her head cracked against the wall and she moaned, clutching her skull. She could feel wet, sticky blood. Della barely managed to roll onto her back, still sprawled across the booth, to see what had hit her.

A dark-haired man in a suit was holding a handgun, the barrel of which was stained in blood.  
Della's head throbbed and her vision swam but she was still present enough to realize he must have hit her.

"Della!" Nessie screamed. Della sucked in a horrified breath as she saw Nessie standing there, green eyes wide with terror, a gun pressed to her temple and a man's meaty arm across her throat.

"Hey, what the-?" That was Jimmy from the back. There was a spray of gunfire. It made Della's head rattle and they heard something heavy fall to the ground with a grunt. They didn't have to see it to know that Jimmy had just been shot.

The kitchen door burst open and in stormed six more men who fanned out across the diner, all holding huge guns. Nessie was sure if she knew anything about weapons she'd probably be really impressed, but all she could get was that they looked like the kind of guns that fired a lot of bullets really fast.

The man with the pistol who'd hit Della spoke. "Everybody, I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast," he said cheerfully to the shocked-silent diner. "Rest assured, so long as you don't cause any trouble there will be no problems here. My buddies and I just came to catch up with an old friend. Isn't that right, Connors?" he asked jovially, gesturing to Fedora with his gun. He didn't seem to notice Della was still lying there, or, more likely, he simply didn't care.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" demanded one guy. Nessie and Della knew him, he came through about once a week or so. His name was Paul. He had a wife and two twin daughters at home. He showed them a new picture of them every time they saw him.

Paul stood up, and Paul fell right back down in a puddle of his own blood as one of the men with the huge guns blew a hole straight through his head. Nessie screamed and her knees sagged as the strength went out of her legs in fear. The man holding her cursed and dragged her upright again, jamming the gun harder into the side of her face.

"Like I said," Pistol reiterated with a dangerous glint in his smile. "So long as you don't cause trouble."

"Everybody out," roared one of the men. Nobody moved, and a couple of the guys looked ready to stand up and try to take them on. After all, they outnumbered the goons with the guns. Three of the goons raised their guns and let of a hail of bullets into the ceiling. Courage fled and there was a stampede to the door.

"You know what we want," said Pistol.

Fedora – Connors – squared his jaw and looked up at him bravely but terror was still clear on his face.

"Let them go, they've got nothing to do with this," he said, nodding to Della and Nessie. Della dragged herself up into a sitting position, pressing herself close to the wall and looking between the two men fearfully.

"I dunno, I think they do," Pistol said contemplatively. Della felt a bit of blood drip off her jaw and onto her hand. She flinched and Pistol grinned. "You're a good guy, aren't you Connors? I bet if I threatened one of them instead of you…" His gun swung around so that it was pointed at her instead of Connors. Della let out a whimper of fear before she could stop herself.

"Della, Della no!" Nessie screamed, and thrashed in the grip of the man who held her.

Della had never really thought about it but she'd always figured that if she was put into a tough situation she'd be able to hold it together. Della would be able to stay strong and take control of the situation and keep the fear stomped down. That was far from the case. She was choking on her terror, the tears mingling with the blood dripping down one side of her face and falling into her lap, soft sobs escaping no matter how tightly together she pressed her lips.

"N-No please!" Connors said desperately, thrusting out a hand to get Pistol's attention. "Please, do-don't… don't hurt anyone." He lowered his head, shame-faced, accepting.

Pistol smirked confidently. "That's what I thought. You know we've got you, don't you Connors?" he bragged. "You're trapped with nowhere to go and a poor girl's life in your hands. What can you do except hand over your work to me? You're not a fighter, not like Loretta."

Della could see Connors' face under the brim on his fedora. Pistol couldn't. From the moment Pistol started preaching, fear and shame had twisted into something hard and cold and desperate, waiting to be released. She didn't know who Loretta was, but she must have been important to Connors, because when Pistol said her name, rage like Della had never seen lit in his eyes. He looked at Della and Nessie and they saw the apology in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he mouthed, before looking up at Pistol. "You're right, I'm not a fighter, not like Loretta."

Pistol's eyes narrowed. He could see the shift in Connors now too. He took a step back as Connors stood up and leveled his gun squarely between the older man's eyes. To his credit, Connors didn't flinch. Della and Nessie watched, awed, as the twitchy man in tweed faced down Pistol.

"But I'm something you're not," Connors said, voice thundering with authority. "I'm a genius. I understand my formula like no one else. Girls, hide!" he roared suddenly, lunging at Pistol. Della squirmed under the table in a desperate attempt to get out of the way. Pistol panicked and so did his men. Nessie was released. She dropped to the ground and threw herself under the table as well.

Bullets flew from every direction. Connors' jolted and trembled as they bored into his head, his torso, his arms, his legs. Bullets thudded into the wall above and around them and they screamed in fear, pressing close to Connors's booth and covering their head with their hands.

An explosion went off right next to their heads. It was pure white light and heat and fire and the smell of burning things and howling wind and everything that was powerful. It threw them sideways. Their bodies cracked against the wall and they knew nothing else.


	2. Chapter 2

**Nessie**

When I came to it was to the smell of smoke and the crackling of flames. I opened my eyes and was surprised to feel that I wasn't even sore, not a little. I sat up, shaking my head, but it didn't ache like expected. I looked around my heart stopped.

The diner was – gone. I was in the middle of a smoking crater. All around me fire raged as the booths and tables and everything that had been thrown clear by the explosion burned. And yet, I was unhurt. I was totally nude, my clothes just a few tattered strands of fabric hanging on me.

Panic consumed me as I panted, dragging in desperate lungfuls of smoke. Something dimly reminded me that that probably wasn't the best idea, inhaling smoke. I tried to hold my breath but it just made my head spin and my vision blacken. I was naked, I was surrounded by fire on all sides and I wasn't hurt but I should be and it was hot and what the _hell_ had happened, it was just a normal day and all I wanted now was just to leave, to get away from this place, but how, there was fire everywhere, I was in an explosion, I was going to explode, _so hot…_

And just like that I was no longer a person but a consciousness. I was gone and there was only my mind, drifting higher and higher into the sky. If I'd had a mouth I would have screamed, if I'd had limbs I would have flailed, but I wasn't a body anymore, I was no more than sentient swoosh of warm wind it seemed. I was going higher, I shouldn't go higher, if I fell I'd die. Or would I, since I had no body? I needed to go down…

My thoughts were all that controlled me now. I sank down through the air, a strange sort of calm steeling over me as I took in the burning wreckage of the diner. I could only be glad that the customers had made it out. I felt a surge of savage glee at the sight of the smoking corpses of the men with guns, Pistol's right arm blown off and his face reduced to so much burned sausage.

But there was Connors's body. Was this the afterlife? Was I dead? Was I some kind of angel now, observing the aftermath of my final few seconds on earth? Any moment now, would I be pulled up to heaven? I thought I was going there, I had never done anything _really_ bad.

I urged my consciousness along and towards Connors's body, slowly and uncertainly at first. Then he let out a wheeze, eyelids fluttering weakly. I realized with horror that despite being blown up and riddled with bullets he was still alive. Maybe that's why I was still here, maybe I was supposed to guide Connors into the afterlife, tell him it wasn't his fault or something?

I drifted closer to Connors. His face was soot- and tear-streaked and I wished I had a body so that I could wipe away some of his tears, bring him some kind of comfort. Sure I'd been terrified right before I died but it had been quick and painless. Connors was wheezing and gurgling his way into oblivion.

No sooner had I wished to have my body back then I was whole again, inside my still naked and ash-covered, over-heated body. I reached out a hand to Connors and wiped away his tears. Groaning as if even that pained him, Connors opened his eyes.

"I-I'm so sorry," he managed to gasp out. "I'm so sorry for… what I've done…"

"It's okay, I didn't feel anything," I assured him, my mouth dry. I couldn't blame him for my death in his final moments, after all. That would be too cruel. "You and I will be going on to heaven or… or wherever soon, I expect."

I think Connors was trying to laugh at that, but it came out like a horrible hacking gasp. "I wi-will… Y-You're still… alive. I'm so… so… sorry… Mea maxima culpa… Loretta, I'm coming…" His eyes went starry as he looked up and with one last wheeze he rattled his way into death. For a moment, the horrible silence that replaced the sound of his breath rang in my ears before I heard the sound of sirens.

Suddenly I was alone in the wreckage and that was terrifying. I stared helplessly at Connors's body, sightless eyes staring up at the sky.

"D-Della," I stammered. "Della?"

I heard a faint groan and whipped around, going up on one knee and peering around. I tried to figure out where I was. If I imagined the diner whole and intact around me, I was somewhere behind the counter, I thought, and the groan came from back towards the table.

"D-Della," I muttered again, a fevered idea coming to me. I had to get to Della, because maybe she was okay? I was fine, right, and I'd been right by the explosion too. I shouldn't be, but I was. What had been in Connors's briefcase that was so volatile it had exploded when it was shot? What had whatever that was done to us? Because if I was still alive, then I'd just drifted up into the air and become nothing, and people weren't supposed to be able to do that.

The table had been blown away, but I could see soot-streaked arm poking out from under an upturned booth. It wasn't moving.

"Della!" I screamed, and threw myself at the booth. It was heavy, I shouldn't have been able to move it, but I was. I threw it away with a grunt of effort, revealing Della underneath, her clothes mostly still intact. But her arm, the one still tucked my her side, was burned and red, the wound extending up her shoulder onto her neck.

"Oh my god, Della," I whispered, hands fluttering helplessly over her. She looked horrible, her skin burned and her dark hair a mess around her shoulders, out of its usual strict bun. Black and grey streaked her body and one of her shoes had been blown off.

"It looks horrible…" Della moaned. Her eyes cracked open, staring blearily at me. "You're… not hurt. Connors died… He said mea culpa… his fault."

I froze. "How do you… know that?"

Della swallowed thickly and shook her head. "Don't… don't know. Nessie, help me up, something's wrong."

A weak, hysterical laugh escaped my lips and then quickly died. "I think lots of things are wrong, Della." I grabbed her under her unhurt shoulder and heaved her into a sitting position, dragging her arm over my shoulder. I stood up, hauling Della to her feet with me. She clutched her wounded arm to her chest protectively, limping across the debris as we headed from the wreckage.

I looked down at my nakedness. "I can't be seen like this," I murmured.

"I don't want to be here for this," Della agreed. "Why aren't you hurt?"

I looked at her in surprise. "How do you know I'm not hurt?"

Again she frowned and shook her head. "I don't know, it's just… just there, in the corner of my mind."

I looked at her sideways but I didn't press as we stepped over what remained of the back wall of the diner. We always parked at the far corner of the parking lot, and today was no different. Those cars closest had broken glass and dents, but the rust-bucket of a Ford pickup was still completely fine.

"Can you drive?" I asked Della uncertainly, looking at her arm. Della's jaw tightened and she grit her teeth determinedly, nodding firmly. She pushed herself away from me and staggered towards the truck, pulling open the door. I stayed frozen, watching like a hawk to see if she'd fall, but she managed to collapse into the cab and I hurried around to the passenger side, kicking the door and yanking it open. I reached into the back, digging around behind my seat for the blanket I knew Della kept there. I dragged it across and covered myself with it, tucking it around my shoulders.

Della fumbled with the keys for a second and then the truck rattled to life. Through the smoke, we could see dark figures starting to make their way through the wreckage, looking for survivors. I considered calling out to them, letting them know we were okay… but we shouldn't be. I should be dead and so should Della, but aside from Della's arm and my nudity we were fine.

Della didn't bother with roads, she just backed out of the parking lot into the corn field behind the diner and took off through the rows, ignoring the stalks that slapped against the windows and windshield. We popped out on the small farm road that led to the Hudson farm and Della switched gears, heading back out of town towards her place. Ella Fitzgerald was singing this time, and Della's hand snapped out, slamming it off and leaving a small streak of blood on the knob.

I looked at her uncertainly. The knuckles of her uninjured hand were white she was gripping the wheel so tightly, and her eyes screamed pain, her jaw tight. She didn't say anything though, didn't complain. Della never complained, not ever.

"What was that?" I asked softly.

Della's jaw clenched. "From what I gathered, Connors was some kind of scientist and those men wanted whatever he invented. He said it was a formula. It was in his briefcase, going by how protective of it he was."

"And whatever was in there exploded all over us," I said slowly, and Della nodded.

"Open your window, the breeze will cool you down," she said randomly, and I looked at her askance.

"Della," I said slowly. "How'd you know I was feeling hot?"

Della's uninjured hand slammed onto the steering wheel, a wild glint in her eyes. "I _don't know,_ damn it!" she cursed. "I've just got these… these _things_ buzzing at the back of my head, thoughts that feel strange."

I focused on a memory, of Della and I going down to the swimming hole when we were in school and Della jumping off the highest rock into the water because Bobby Fenton said that girls couldn't.

"What is it now?" I asked, holding my breath as Della's brown furrowed.

"It's… Bobby Fenton, and that time at the swimming hole." She frowned harder. "Why did I think of that?"

I swallowed thickly. "You didn't, Della. I did."

Her head whipped around and for the second time that day we nearly ran off the road. "What ?" she demanded.

"I think…" I licked my lips. "I think you're reading my thoughts, Della. I think that's what it is."

Della faced me, her eyes flicking between me and the road intently. "That's not possible!" she snapped. "That's not possible, that's silly, why would you… why would you say that?" she demanded, and I gasped as a wave of pain passed over me, like a cone drilling into my brain. I groaned and doubled over, clutching my head.

"Nessie?" Della's voice was trembling as she slammed on the break and reached out to rub my shoulders. "Nessie, what is it, are you okay?"

The pain was fading, gone as quickly as it had come, and it had come with Della's outburst. "I think that was you," I said, sitting up with a small moan as my brain gave a last throb. "It was like… like my brain was being stabbed."

Della paused, her hands still on my shoulders. "I… felt something too."

Her eyes were wide and scared but also strangely calm as she spoke slowly and clearly, like she was tasting the words as she said them. "When I yelled, it was like something sort of… of flew out," she said uncertainly.

"Flew out?" I asked blankly.

"Like… like a rubber band being launched, only my mind was the finger," Della struggled to explain. She looked at my guiltily. "I hurt you. I… I don't even know how. How could something like that happen?"

I grimaced. "Something happened to me too." I slowly began to explain, telling her about the way I'd dissolved into nothing and floated up into the air, how I'd floated back down by Connors's side and how as soon as I wished it, my body existed again. Tears of confusion and fear and waning adrenaline began to flow as I finished my story.

"And then I saw you under the booth and I shouldn't have been able to move it, but I could and… and I don't know what happening!" I smacked my palms on my thighs and then screamed as they burst into flames. Della recoiled, groaning as her arm protested. I waved my arms frantically, but after only a second I realized that it didn't hurt. The fire wasn't burning me. In fact, it wasn't even on my skin. I could see it flowing smoothly from my wrist, the shapes of my fingers structured in flame.

Fascination took hold and I willed the flames to move farther up my arms. It did, climbing towards my elbows. I flicked my hands and my arms went out. I pushed energy down my arms and my hands turned into flame again, the heat filling the cab of the truck.

I stared at Della, who was gazing in a mix of curiosity and fear at my hands. "What's going on?" I said weakly. "What's happened to us?"

I could see her fear and pain in Della's eyes big blue eyes. She shook her head helplessly, eyes fixed on the road. She pressed down on the gas pedal and we started moving again.

"I don't know," she said simply. "We'll figure it out when we get home."

* * *

 **Della**

For the life of me I couldn't explain it. The things that had happened were impossible. This was a sleepy little country town. 'Big events' were church potlucks and barn raisings, not attacks by men with automatic weapons and scientists with exploding chemicals. Exploding chemicals that had gotten all over us… dear god, what were we?

The library was pitiful, always had been, probably always would be, but they had a few subscriptions to science magazines and newspapers for the sake of the high school kids doing papers. I had read a lot of them for the sake of something to keep my mind stimulated. I knew what sort of new strides were being made in science and a thought came to me of mutation, of people's coding going haywire and manifesting in defects or, in some cases, assets. Could that be what had happened to us? A bunch of random who-knows-what exploding on us sounded like a good way to mutate to me.

And Nessie… she was unharmed. Not just unharmed, but it perfect health. She was naked under that blanket and covered in ash and dirt but there wasn't a mark on her. Not a scratch, not a bruise, not even a red mark from hitting the wall. Nothing. And her story about floating up into the air and then coming back to her body… That wasn't normal. Neither was shifting a booth, and she'd done it, I knew she had, because I remembered feeling the booth shift off of me and seeing Nessie's hands doing it.

On top of that were the things in my head. It was like a hum in the back of my mind, something that wasn't quite loud enough to be distinct but was just loud enough to be distracting. If I focused on it I could hear things in Nessie's voice, but she wasn't speaking. Images flashed through my brain and words drifted through my consciousness without me thinking them, but there they were. They were Nessie's thoughts, I knew it, but I didn't want to admit it. Those thoughts sounded like Nessie, not like me.

I pulled into the gravel driveway and stopped, putting the truck in park. I could see my home sitting on the hill. It looked just like it had when I'd left it only an hour ago, but how was that possible? Hadn't my world just been shattered? So how was my house still okay?

The sound of a door slamming jerked me from my thoughts. Nessie was standing outside, sweating slightly under the blanket and shifting from foot to foot, looking at me expectantly. I stepped out of the truck and winced as my arm jostled. I was studiously avoiding looking at it, avoiding thinking about it, but I knew I wouldn't be able to do that for long. I had to address it, after all. It was burned red and raw, blood seeping through cracks in my skin. I could feel it like fire trapped under my skin, working up my shoulder and into the side of my neck. Every breath I took, every time I moved my neck, it throbbed harder.

Nessie must have seen the pain on my face because she was immediately at my side, ducking under my uninjured shoulder. I could walk fine, but I let her stay, as much because she needed to feel helpful as because I needed the comfort of another person going through this insanity at my side. Like the most unfortunate team to ever enter a three-legged race we tottered up the small hill towards the house.

I had always hated my home. It was a two-story construction that my father had built, but a combination of lack of effort, drink, and not enough money had left it in sorry state. It sat up on the big red-orange rocks hauled out of the creek. There were holes in the walls which mean that there was no protection from bugs or mice or snakes that wanted to come inside. Sometimes in the winter, if the wind blew the right way, I came downstairs in the morning in the snow. The floor creaked horribly and the roof leaked under any rain heavier than a drizzle. Compared to Nessie's small but well-made farmhouse, I felt like a pauper.

Nessie didn't make a comment though. She never had, even though the porch sagged slightly under our weight and she had to brace her weight against the door to get it to finally swing open. We staggered inside and I sagged against the wall, my arm tucked against my stomach, panting slightly. I couldn't focus on driving anymore, so there was nothing to distract me from the burning pain.

"What do you need?" Nessie asked immediately.

"Egg whites," I rattled off. "Baking soda. Vinegar. Aloe. Lavender oil." I was combining a hell of a lot of homemade treatments but the state my arm was in warranted it. Best guess it was a second degree burn, although the fact that I didn't feel any pain along the outside of my forearm really worried me. That could mean that the nerves there were dead.

I shoved myself off the wall and headed for the stairs. The only thing on the first floor was the kitchen/dining room, the bedrooms were upstairs and the bathroom was an outhouse in the back. I used my good arm to grip the stair rail and haul my exhausted self up the stairs towards the hall closet. It dug around inside and pulled out a small bag from the bottom, hauling it back downstairs. Nessie had pulled a big ceramic mixing bowl down from the cabinet and was busily squeezing gel out of the aloe plant that grew in the window. I could see a mound of baking soda in there already and the kitchen reeked of vinegar.

I threw the bag down onto the table and reached inside, digging through and pulling items out. One of Nessie's shirts and a skirt to match, along with a pair of loafers that she kept here for nights when we gathered together to coo over the latest issues of magazines and down sodas from the general store while wishing we could live the glamorous lives of the actresses and singers and models on those glossy pages.

"Thanks," Nessie said gratefully as she began to pour the eggs from shell to shell, letting the whites drip out into the bowl. There was a steadily-growing pile of shells behind her and my aloe plant had less than half as many leaves as it had this morning. There was a lot of area to cover.

I waked back up the stairs and into my room. There was my mother's old Singer on a table in the corner. I dragged the sewing stool out with my foot and lifted off the leather cushion, digging around inside until I came up with a pair of sewing scissors. I pulled them out and headed back downstairs. Nessie had the concoction ready in the mixing bowl and had dragged the heavy plastic of the first aid kit out from under the sink. It was sitting out on the table and she was tugging on the skirt as I came back in.

"Strangest salad dressing ever," Nessie said with a weak smile as I sat down in the chair and dragged the first aid kit and the paste over to me. It reeked to high hell, but hopefully it would work. Vinegar to clean, lavender to fight infection, aloe to cool the burn.

I smiled humorlessly as I picked up the scissors. My shirt sleeve was mostly gone, but it was hanging on around the neck and shoulder. There was no point in trying to salvage the shirt at this point so I just started chopping, getting the charred bits of fabric off until my arm and shoulder were completely bare. Nessie handed me a spatula, I gritted my teeth, and went to work.

The damage around my fingers was bad enough. I simply dipped my hand into it and tried my hardest not to scream as the pain flared. Thankfully, the remedies kicked in pretty quickly and the sting began to fade. I grimaced as I began to use the spatula to scoop it further and further up my arm in a thick layer. I grimaced and bit my lip and fought back curses while Nessie stood by silently with bandages from the first aid kit in her hands, silently waiting for me to beckon her forwards.

I got the paste smeared all the way up my arm, onto my shoulder, and up my neck before I set the spatula aside, sweating and panting, Nessie's concerns buzzing in the back of my head like a particularly annoying fly, and beckoned her forwards. Nessie hurried over with the bandages brought to bear, but hesitated. She set the gauze aside and reached for the spatula again. I looked at her questioningly.

"what did I miss?"

The image floated in my mind. I was sitting in the kitchen chair, looking at Nessie blankly. The burns were mostly covered in a whitish-grey paste, but there were a few patches I had missed. The burns ran farther across the front of my throat than I had realized and up my chin, just creeping around the edge of my jaw onto my cheek. I cursed and bit back tears of humiliation as Nessie began to tenderly smear paste on the parts I'd missed.

"It'll heal," Nessie said weakly, but we both knew that was just a platitude. Certainly, it would heal. But it would leave behind scars like you wouldn't believe. I'd always been proud of my clear complexion – I'd never had to deal with acne like a lot of others had. Now one of the very few parts of my appearance I was proud of was gone, destroyed by fire and replaced with a gift that I was rapidly starting to hate as Nessie's fear and confusion mixed with my own in my head into a potent cocktail.

"What are we going to do?" Nessie whimpered as she picked up the bandages and began to wrap them around my fingers, around my palm, up my arm. "How are we supposed to explain how we survived?"

"We can't tell anyone," I said firmly. "If those sort of people were after the formula, they would surely come after us if they knew what we could do?"

"You don't think it'll go away?" Nessie asked, the undisguised hope in her voice rubbing my heart raw.

"I don't see why it would, and either way, why would those men believe us if they found out what we could do?"

"I don't know," Nessie said helplessly. "So what do we do?"

"We leave," I said simply. It was like my brain worked differently now. Part of me was panicking but another part was completely calm and rational, plotting out movements and coming up with contingencies. Was this another side-effect? I had panicked earlier with a gun to my head, I shouldn't be so calm in this aftermath insanity.

"Leave?" Nessie stared at me in horror. "But where would we go? What would we do? I mean, we don't know anyone outside of town." She paused, an idea floating across her mind, and it entered mine as well. Nessie didn't bother to voice it as she wrapped the bandages around my throat, careful not to make it too tight.

I could see it in her mind. Us, walking down Manhattan streets, with shining hair, made-up face, and store-bought clothes, body guards following behind us and fans at our heels. Nessie had always wanted to dance and me? I wanted to sing, but I understood that it was a pipe dream at best. Nessie had always clung to hope that it might be possible but neither of us had ever been brave enough to take the step of leaving our hometown, a place so small it wasn't on roadmaps.

It wasn't a bad idea though. I didn't see us becoming famous, not with how I would look, not with barely any money and no contacts, but a place like New York was massive. We could lose ourselves there, completely start over. Share a little apartment somewhere cheap – Brooklyn maybe – and just… forget all of this ever happened. Live our lives without any gun fights in diners or scientists with top-secret formulas in tweed suits.

"That's not a bad idea," I admitted, hissing in pain as Nessie tightened the bandages around my throat. Immediately she whipped her hands back, all apologies and sweetness. "We load up the truck and just… drive."

"To New York?" Nessie asked hopefully.

"To someplace big enough to lose ourselves in," I agreed. "New York works."

And just like that, we had a plan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Nessie**

It was depressingly easy to clean out Della's place. She'd always been poor – the effects of being the daughter of the town drunk. Her belongings fit easily into a single trunk – her clothes and shoes, sewing machine and supplies. Kitchen utensils and her few books were packed up into boxes. Along with them, we loaded a few cheap pieces of furniture into the bed of the truck and then went to my place.

It was harder for me. I had more to go through, more to decide on what to keep and what to leave behind and never come back for. I dumped my toiletries into the bag with Della's and packed up my own clothes in a trunk. I had more boxes – knick-knacks I'd accumulated. My bed was bigger, so we decided to take it instead of Della's. Our money would go towards getting a place, furniture would be what we could bring at first until we got job and had some savings.

Everything was loaded into the back of the rickety farm truck Della had inherited from her father and we threw a tarp down over it all, lashing it down with ropes to keep the weather out.

The bank was our first big challenge. We needed money, and I knew we did, but this would also be the biggest risk. All we could hope for was that news of our presumed death hadn't reached the bank yet, or we wouldn't be able to get our money without the whole town knowing we were still alive. The fact that we'd gotten everything and then fled for parts unknown would be a big enough mess once the police started investigating and news of our 'death' was made public.

Della had bundled up despite the fact that it was barely fall. She wore long sleeves, gloves, and a scarf around her neck, sweating a bit as we both entered the bank, from warmth as much as stress. We split at the door and each headed for tellers at opposite ends of the counter.

"Hello Stella!" I greeted as I approached the blonde. She lived a few miles away from me with her husband Stuart.

"Nessie, hi!" Stella greeted. "What can I do for you? It's not payday."

"No, it's not," I admitted. "I'm here to close out my account.

Stella gaped. "Close your account? Why?" she asked blankly. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing!" I laughed, like she was being silly. "It's just that I've decided to go on an… extended vacation, I guess you could say. I'm going to need all I've got."

Stella looked at me suspiciously. "You in some kind of trouble, Ness?"

"No, of course not," I assured her. I was beginning to feel unbearably hot, stress eating me alive, and I was praying I wouldn't spontaneously burst into flames from the nerves. "I just want to go and see things, you know? I don't think I'll get much chance to so I've decided I'm not gonna wait for the world to come to me."

Stella was skeptical, disapproving. I wasn't surprised. People didn't leave this place, or if they did, they didn't go far. People were born here, grew up here, went to school here, got married her, raised their kids here, and when they died they were buried at the cemetery here. People didn't go off on trips to find themselves or seek their fortune, and if they did, they were crazy.

"Alright," Stella said simply, giving a look that clearly said she thought I was making a mistake. She walked to a filing cabinet and began to dig around. "I'll need you to fill out some paperwork."

"That's fine," I agreed immediately.

Half an hour later, Della and I were back in her truck with all the money we had between us tucked into an envelope shoved down my dress. Della's truck roared into our final stop before we left this place behind for good – the store.

"Remember, fill up the tank," Della reminded me. "Food that won't spoil. And… aspirin," she requested, color high in her cheeks. I knew she didn't like admitting that her arm hurt, but it had to be killing her.

"Of course," I assured her, and slid out of the car. The more Della was out in public the more likely it was that someone would see her injury and ask what had happened, so it was agreed that I would do the shopping.

I climbed out of the call. Pete was waiting by the pump and he greeted me with a grin as I piled out of the car.

"Mornin' Nessie. I thought you worked Thursday mornings?"

I shook my head. "Not today, me and Della asked for the day off to drive into town and go shopping. Got a lot of things we need building up and we won't have time this weekend. Bobbi and Emma are covering for us."

"Fill 'er up then?" Pete guessed.

"If you don't mind," I requested, and waited. It was easy to pretend it was a normal day, chatting casually with Pete as he filled up the tank about how Mary Abbott had missed church last Sunday, and was she okay, because Pete had heard from Doc that she'd been in the other day about stomach complaints, but don't tell anyone because Pete wasn't supposed to know that.

He scrawled the ticket out and handed it over and I walked into the general store with it clutched tightly in my hand. I nodded politely to Vera behind the counter and grabbed a basket, walking down the aisles. I loaded it up with foods that would last, canned and packaged, and ventured into the small section of pharmacy supplies. I shoved most of the rolls of bandages into the bag along with three bottles of aspirin and ventured to the counter. All the weight on my arms should have been dragging me down but I carried it easily. Did this bursting into flame come with superior strength as well?

I heaved my purchases up onto the counter and Vera raised her eyebrow as she began ringing everything up on the register.

"Weekly shopping I get," she mused as I handed her the ticket from Pete. "But what's with all the gauze? Did you hurt yourself?"

"I'm running some things over to Mr. Wilkerson," I explained. He was the shut-in who lived just outside of town and we'd all sort of adopted him. The church wives ran food out there when they could and the kids pitched in to keep up his house and property. He was toothless from years of chew and had a voice like a tractor motor but he was a sweetheart and we all adored him.

Instantly, Vera's face morphed into concern. "Oh no, is he hurt?"

"No, he's just found a deer that someone shot and apparently lost," I explained. "He's gonna try and patch it up and get it better. Hunting season's almost over, give it another year to live before they troop back out with their shotguns."

Vera smiled. "Oh, that absolute sweetheart!" she chuckled as she put everything in brown paper bags for me. She gave me the total and I winced but handed over the money. Vera offered to help me carry the bags out, but it would raise questions if she looked under the tarp and saw all of our belongings boxed up.

"Give him my best!" Vera called after me as I hustled from the shop and piled into the truck with Della. The bags were stuffed behind our seats and we took off, with Pete waving cheerfully after us as we went. It was strange, like it was any other day when we'd stopped for gas and a soda, but we were not going to be coming back here, maybe ever.

"So where are we going?" I asked uncertainly as Della turned onto the paved road that lead towards a town where we could pick up a main road. I reached into the glove box and pulled out the map. Within a few minutes it was spread all across the dash and I had managed to pinpoint the road we were heading for.

"It'll take more than a day for us to get here. We could probably get to DC by tonight," Della reasoned. "And then we can get a hotel and bed down, probably find a copy of a New York newspaper somewhere, and try to find a place to stay in the classifieds."

"You really think we can afford New York?" I asked skeptically. Between the two of us we had a decent amount of money, but it was hardly a fortune.

"No," Della said bluntly. "But maybe some place like Brooklyn, if we found a little tenement and got jobs."

I looked at her arm uncertainly and was about to ask if she would be able to work when she answered the question for me.

"I don't have a choice, we need the money. Thankfully it was my left arm so I can still write. I can wait tables or do some basic clerical things."

I looked at her sideways and saw her eyes flick to me in understanding. She was visibly hesitant as she asked, "You… didn't say that out loud?"

I shook my head wordlessly. "I… don't know how I feel about having you in my head," I admitted sheepishly. Della was my best friend, we'd known each other since we were six, and I told her almost everything. _Almost_ everything, there were things I kept to myself because they were too personal to tell anyone or because I knew Della didn't want or need to hear them. And now she had a season pass to whatever I was thinking.

I felt violated and more naked than I had crouching nude by Connors as he died.

"It's not…" Della was frowning hard, glaring out the windshield with a dark expression on her face. "I don't hear it all, it's more like a buzz until I focus on it and then I hear words and see images. I… I'll try to ignore it," she promised, and nodded decisively. I blinked and put a hand on her uninjured shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "I know you must hate this."

Della's grip on the wheel tightened and she kept staring out the front window with a look of annoyance on her face.

"Nothing is so common-place as the wish to be remarkable," Della whispered. "Oliver Wendell Holmes. I wanted to be somebody, but not… like this." Her eyes darted to her bandaged arm and I knew she was thinking it was far too high a price to pay for such a miserable payoff.

Della was a homebody, always had been. She was an introspective person. She could plaster on a smile for work and had no problem laughing and talking with someone she knew well, but she needed time to herself to recharge and think and be quiet and calm. She couldn't do that anymore, not without someone else's thoughts and feelings buzzing in her head. This was maybe the worst ability that she could have gotten from whatever was in Connors's case.

"Will you be okay around all those people?" I asked her in concern. "I mean… will it be too much? In your head? We could find some little place in the middle of nowhere, I don't mind…"

"No, it's more convenient to go someplace packed," Della said firmly. She had a plan in mind. She always did. "I'll just have to get used to it and control it," she said simply, and looked sideways at me. "And you should too."

I looked down at my hands, remembering when they'd burst into flames and thinking of how I'd vanished into nothing but air. It had been oddly peaceful under all the panic, just floating in the sky, letting the wind carry me along, darting here and there at my own whim. Just me and the breeze and the heat that was now lingering under my skin at all times…

"Damn!"

Della slammed on the break and I jerked around to look at her in shock. She had her good hand pressed to her chest and was staring at me darkly.

"What?" I demanded, looking at her incredulously. I craned to see the road. "Did you see an animal?"

"You vanished!" Della snapped at me. I looked at her blankly, then down at myself. I was sitting in the seat just like I had been a moment ago, before I got lost in the idea of drifting in the breeze…

This time I felt it starting to happen, felt myself starting to fade from a body, and stopped myself. I winced.

"I'm gonna have to watch that," I realized. Della nodded and pressed down on the gas again.

"No kidding. Give me a heart attack…"

* * *

 **Della**

We drove through the day, only stopping for bathroom breaks at roadside diners and stores. We didn't stop for food, we ate out of the sacks of food Nessie bought at the store. About noon we swapped places and I ate crackers and drank warm coke while she drove, occasionally checking the map to give directions.

Sure enough, when we stopped for the night close to midnight we had reached a small town just outside of Washington DC. A little bed and breakfast was the cheapest place we could find for the night so we got a single room. I holed up with our small stockpile of food in the room while Nessie walked down the road to the store and picked up several papers.

"Here's a place in Manhattan," Nessie said. We were sitting on the queen-sized bed in our stockings, our shoes resting haphazardly on the rug. Scattered around us were discarded pages from various New York newspapers and a map of the different boroughs. She winced as she reached a price. "Never mind."

"I told you, we need to stick to Brooklyn or Queens, most likely," I reminded her. I circled a place in a pen I'd dug from the drawer of the nightstand and passed it over to Nessie.

"This one doesn't look too bad," she said, and grabbed a pair of scissors she'd begged from the front desk, adding it to a tiny collection of possibilities we'd found thus far. She checked the address and started combing across the map we had, trying to figure out where it was. She marked it with a big red star and turned back to her own section of classifieds.

"Here's place in Brooklyn," she said, and tilted her head. "It's pretty cheap though, that's not terribly encouraging."

"We can handle a fixer-upper though," I said confidently.

"Maybe these Yankees are too fancy to paint their own places," she agreed with a wink and started cutting that one out as well.

It felt like we were back in Nessie's bedroom, pouring over magazines and wishing we could afford the fabulous suits that the women on the pages wore, trying to recreate the dramatic makeup looks of the stars we saw in films at the drive-in with our meager collection of cosmetics. Only now we were technically on the lam and trying to find a place to hide out while we got used to our new powers.

God, when had we become comic book characters?

Nessie yawned widely and glanced at the clock. It was past one and creeping up on two in the morning. We'd been at this for over an hour.

"Okay, if we can't find a place to stay in any of this," she said, gesturing to the pile of about ten places we'd accumulated, "then it's not going to happen. It's time for bed."

I agreed. My eyes were burning and I felt wiped out. It was crazy to think that yesterday morning I'd been driving Nessie to the diner like always. All of this madness had happened in less than twenty-four hours. It hadn't even been a full day yet.

"You can take the bathroom first," I offered, and Nessie nodded thankfully. She slid off the bed and grabbed the clothes she'd brought in from her trunk, heading for a shower and a nightgown. I stood up and stripped off my shirt and undergarments. Topless, I sat down at the tiny table in the corner of the room, armed with the jar of the leftover paste Nessie had whipped up. With no need to leave food in the house, we'd dumped all my eggs, honey, vinegar, and lavender oil into a bowl and mixed it together before dumping it up into a mason jar. My aloe plant was riding safely between Nessie's feet, now less a houseplant and more a necessity.

I untied the knot Nessie had put in the bandages and carefully peeled them off, hissing in pain as they tugged on scabs that had formed. Dead, blackened skin flaked off and my stomach turned at the smell of scorched flesh and random foods. I gasped as the last of the bandages coiled into the trash can at my feet and felt incredibly sorry for whatever maid would be cleaning up after us.

I stood and went to the door of the bathroom, tapping on it. Nessie tugged it open and looked out curiously, clearly stripped down and about to crawl into the bath.

"I need to wash this off," I said, nodding towards the remains of the paste on my burned arm. Immediately Nessie pulled the door open and let me come inside before sliding into the half-full bathtub.

Cold water ran soothingly over the burn and I sighed in relief as I gently scrubbed the remains of the paste off and watched it slide down the drain. I carefully kept my eyes away from the burn, observing it only peripherally. I didn't want to see it. I couldn't bring myself to look. That buzzing node that had taken up residence in the back of my head was like a nail being driven into my skull. I raised my good hand and rubbed furiously at my temple, focusing on it for a moment.

An image flashed in my mind, tinged with the familiar feel of Nessie. I stood by the cracked porcelain sink with a hand on my forehead. My exposed limb was a horror, all charred flesh and cracking scabs and pinkish yellow blisters. I could have screamed right then in anger and frustration and embarrassment. In Nessie's mind I saw my face contort in real time.

"Della?"

Nessie's soft, uncertain voice jerked me from her thoughts and I shoved them all back into that small buzzing spot and turned on my heel. I plastered on my waitress's smile. "I'm fine," I said simply, and turned on my heel, stalking from the room. I collapsed into the chair by the table and dug my fingers into the paste, setting to work smearing it all over. It burned and stung for a moment from the pressure of my fingers but soon the aloe kicked in and my arm felt pleasantly cool, the sensation moving higher as I made my way up my shoulder to my neck and under my chin. It was with relief that I set to work with the bandages. Given that I could only use one hand, it was messier than Nessie's job but it covered it all and that was what I cared about.

Nessie stepped out of the bathroom, her hair tied back in two braided pigtails hanging from behind her ears. She could have been Heidi's red-haired cousin, looking incredibly innocent in her little white night dress. She looked at me in concern and stepped hesitantly towards me, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"Are you okay, Dells?" she asked uncertainly. I smiled back even though I didn't feel anything close to okay. The buzzing in my head was louder than it had been when were on the road and when I dipped into it I could hear the thoughts from a man two rooms over, who was angry about his favorite baseball team's recent loss, and the fellow across the hall whose thoughts were consumed with his boss who was heaping work onto him for reasons unknown, and the woman two floors up who was in the middle of a liaison with her boyfriend that her father didn't approve of, and the receptionist who was chewing gum and reading the society pages in a newspaper that was two days old that someone had left in the break room. All of it flooded into my brain and the jumble of thoughts triggered an instant headache.

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

When I opened my eyes - I hadn't even realized I'd closed them - Nessie was standing there with the bottle of aspirin we'd gotten and a glass of water from the sink. I stared at her blankly for a moment.

"Listening and hearing it all," she continued, looking at me... dear god, she pitied me. It turned my stomach. I'd spent entirely too much of my life being pitied because of who my father was but Nessie had never been like that. And now here she was staring at me like I was some starving dog who had trotted up to her to beg for scraps.

"I'm fine!" I snapped. Nessie didn't flinch or straighten up. Her eyes didn't cool off and she didn't snap back like some people might have. She knew better than to go by my words. Much like my father I lashed out when I was angry. I said things I didn't mean.

"I can feel it too," Nessie said softly. I looked at her blankly. "It's sort of like a tickling under my skin, and I'm so hot all the time. I feel like I should be sweating, but I'm not. And the water in my bath was steaming, so I know it was warm, but it felt tepid when I crawled in."

I sighed and slumped against the table. I was being selfish. I wasn't the only one who'd had whatever this was happen to them. Nessie was just as confused and uncertain about what she could do as I was and here I was giving her a hard time for trying to help and thinking only of myself. I reached out to take the pill and the water.

"Thank you," I muttered as I set the pill on my tongue and downed it with a long swallow of water. I wrinkled my nose - the water here tasted strange. I couldn't put my finger on it for a second and then it hit me - I was used to spring water. All the water in my house came from the spring down the hill in the trees, but the water here in DC had been treated. It made me wrinkle my nose - even the water was different. Could nothing be the same?

Nessie. Nessie was the same. She was as sweet and kind as she'd always been, taking care of people as best as she could and never asking for anything in return. Even when I was sharpening my tongue on her a second ago she came and tried to make me feel better.

"Thanks," I said again, and Nessie's face split into a wide, tooth-bearing smile.

"Welcome." She patted my knee fondly. "Put on your gown and come to bed, we've got a big day tomorrow."

"Apartment hunting," I said, tasting the words on my tongue.

"I know, I can't believe it either," Nessie agreed as she made her way over to the twin bed. The bedsprings creaked badly as she settled in and I grimaced - that would be fun to sleep on. I stood up, screwing the lid back onto the mason jar where the paste was stored and picking up my nightgown. I didn't bother with the bathroom, just striped down and laid my day clothes across the back of the chair. I tugged on the nightgown and flipped off the lights. I lifted the sheets, sliding into the bed. We had to squeeze together to fit and my shoulder was pressed against her back. It was almost stiflingly hot under the covers for it being fall in Yankee country. It took me a moment and then it clicked, and when it did, I started laughing hysterically.

Nessie flicked on the lamp on her nightstand and rolled over to look at me incredulously. My burns ached from the jostling but I couldn't help it, jaw stretched wide as I giggled and snorted.

"What is it?" Nessie asked blankly.

"You are going to be a fabulous heater in the winter."

Nessie sucked in an annoyed breath. It hurt when the pillow came down hard across my face but I just kept laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Merry Christmas! You guys wanted an early update, so here's the Christmas present for you guys! I'll be out of town for Wednesday, so that's why. Also, if you follow To Be A Slytherin, the series about Severus and Amity is up now! Entitled Severity. It'll be updated randomly, with no real schedule, just as I feel like working on it.**

* * *

 **Nessie**

It was October, and the weather in New York had dipped into the 50s according to the radio that morning, but that didn't matter to me. I still felt like it was summer, and while Della wrapped herself in a scarf and gloves and a long-sleeved shirt as much to hide her burns as for the warmth, I was content in a short-sleeved dress with a thin petticoat for flair.

It took only a handful of hours for us to get into New York City from DC and I stared around in awe. The soaring structures of glass and brick towered overhead. I'd never seen a building even half that tall back home, not even the courthouse or the hotel by the main road. The sky was a slash of blue overhead and everywhere I looked was brick and people in colorful clothes and the noise of cars and people talking and music drifting out of the doors of diners as we passed.

I stared around greedily as Della drove through the streets, fascinated by everything I saw. Signs advertising movies by the glimmering marquee of a theater with more than one screen. Mannequins in the windows of stores sporting the fashions I'd only ever seen on the covers of magazines, never in person. Yellow Star cabs cut deftly in and out of traffic like needles threaded with yellow diving through fabric. Watching the traffic flow around us was like watching an elaborately-choreographed dance.

"Della, did you see that?" I asked, turning eagerly and pointing at the window of a store. "I've never seen a radio like… Della?"

Della's eyes were darting here and there and the leather of her worn, second-hand driving gloves creaked from her grip on the steering wheel. Her pasture wasn't ramrod straight like it usually was, but slightly hunched and defensive.

"Della, what's wrong?" I asked in concern.

"Nothing," she bit out sharply, blue eyes flashing. She stomped the brake as a cab darted in front of us and the driver of the car behind us honked angrily. Della mouthed curse words to herself as she pressed down on the gas again and we lurched forwards, stopping against almost immediately as we hit a busy through fare.

"How do people get anywhere here?" she snarled, and peered up past the lip of the roof at the small patch of sky overhead.

"I'm sure you're just not used to it," I reasoned. "You'll pick it up."

Della didn't acknowledge my comment, just pointed to the glove box and said, "Get out the map and tell me how to get to the first address."

Apartment hunting was not what I expected it would be. I thought it would be all realtors with friendly smiles and places with neat curtains and pretty views of Central Park. It was probably a bit naïve, but to be fair, the first place did have two out of three of those things. Lightweight cotton curtains hung over the window and it did indeed overlook Central Park, but the only reason we showed up was because the price was way less than we'd expected. The realtor showing the place took one look at us, wrinkled his nose, and informed us that a misprint had left off a zero on the price, and we were _not_ the sort of people who could afford the place.

The next place was a rat hole in the Bronx. The wallpaper was peeling, the ceilings were stained from water damage, and the whole place reeked of body odor, spilled alcohol, and stale cigarette smoke. Whoever lived there before us must have been an absolute pig, and I could tell by the look on Della's face the moment we set foot inside and she took a breath that the place wasn't going to work, even with a little elbow grease. The smell wouldn't come out.

Della was not remotely enthused about New York, it seemed. I couldn't tell if it was just that she was uncomfortable in a new place, if her arm hurt, if the voices pressing into her head were bothering her, or if she genuinely didn't like the city. Most likely it was a combination of some of them, but she spent the day with her eyes straight ahead and her jaw knotted in annoyance. She kept her eyes fixed ahead and her grip tight as she drove us around, and not once did she glance at the window displays that I was fascinated by.

We drove up and down the streets looking for a place to stay, and ended up in every borough looking at places that varied between out of our price range and genuine hazards, but it was always something. I found myself enjoying the drive from place to place more than seeing the actual apartments. We tried places in Queens, another in the Bronx, and skipped one in Manhattan that we'd originally considered because of the price. In the end, the only places left to us were the ones in Brooklyn, and they varied between depressingly run-down and completely filthy.

I was discouraged as we approached the next-to-last place on our list. The building was on a corner, with another block of apartments on one side and a vacant, sandy lot with scrubby grass on the other. Della swerved and parked the truck in the lot near the apartments. Running up the back of the building were metal stairs and wooden landings. It was easy to guess which apartment we were supposed to be looking at, because there was a man lingering outside with a suit, tie, and businessman's smile.

"Hello ladies!" he called, crossing his arms and leaning them on the railing as he stared down at us. "Are you Nessie and Della?"

"We are indeed," I said as I slammed the door shut behind me. He raised his eyebrow at the battered old farm truck like most people who'd seen us going down the road thus far had. "I hope you weren't waiting too long for us?" I asked politely. He waved a hand dismissively.

"Not a problem, don't worry. Come on up, come see the place." He gestured for us. I looked at Della, and her face was as unenthused as it had been since we crossed into the city.

"It'll be alright," I assured her, grabbing her uninjured hand and tucking it into the crook of my arm. I patted her hand fondly. "You'll see."

Della nodded stiffly but said nothing, staring at the man who owned the building suspiciously as we mounted the short flight of steps to the first level. There were three apartments on the ground floor, it seemed. I could hear the radio playing faintly through the door of the first, the second seemed unoccupied, or at least no one was home, and the third was the one we were there to see.

"Vinny Carelli," the man said, offering me a hand. I took it in my free hand and shook, smiling politely as he grinned at me with big, white teeth. He extended his hand to Della, and she just stared at him blankly.

"Della doesn't shake," I explained hastily, squeezing her hand in warning. "She's a little shy."

"Well, we'll break her of that soon here in the Big Apple, eh?" Vinny said with a laugh, reaching out and smacking her shoulder companionably. I saw Della's eyes widen and felt her suck in a breath. Her eyes practically screamed pain and I could have happily throttled Vinny right there for hitting her burn, but that would do no good. He had no idea she was injured, thanks to her gloves and scarf.

"Maybe," I said vaguely. "Can we, ah, see the place?"

"Sure, sure, gotta look before you can say yes or no," Vinny said, holding up his hands. "I get that. Come on, I'll give you the tour." He thrust a hand into his pocket and plucked out the key, fitting it into the door of the apartment on the end and turning it. "Place is a little run-down, last guy I had living here was a bit of a slob, never fixed anythin

* * *

g, but you two little home makers should be able to fix that quick. And if you can't, the two guys renting the place next door will be glad to help," he assured us as he swung the door open and gestured for us to step inside.

I let Della's arm slide free and entered, looking around curiously. Vinny was right, the place needed some love. It was dusty more than anything else, and it was obvious it had been vacant for a while. The floor boards were scuffed up, but they could be shined and cleaned up. The white curtains had gone yellow with age and had probably been hanging there as long as the building. There were small rectangles on the faded wall paper where pictures used to hang, but those could be covered fairly easily.

The appliances in the kitchen were all a good ten years old but that didn't matter much. Della's place was heated by a wood-burning stove, and that was where she did a lot of her cooking as well, because her gas stove didn't work more often than not. This place was a step up. The color of the kitchen set was a gross faded green, but everything seemed to be in working order, at least. When I ventured over and flicked the knob, the range lit, and when I opened the ice box, it was cool inside.

"Can we see the bedroom?" I asked Vinny curiously, leaving the kitchen and glancing up at the ceiling. Cobwebs were starting to make a claim in the corners, but that could be handled. I suspected the amount of cleaning to be done was what had kept renters away; that and the smell of dust and mustiness that could be fixed with a good airing out.

"Over here," he said, gesturing to two doors in the wall to the right of the door. "Bathroom, bedroom," he said, pointing to the two doors in turn. "Only one bedroom, but it should be big enough for you to put two beds in there. So long as they're small," he said with a grin as I opened the door. I felt Della press up against my back, peering inside curiously.

The musty smell and the dust carried over into the bedroom, and the curtains were parted just enough to reveal a wonderful view of the brick wall of the apartment building opposite. It was a change from views of rolling green like back home, but I didn't mind, oddly enough. Already I could see us putting the place together, making it nice, adding little homey touches like the rag rug Della's mom had made back in the day and the paint-by-numbers of a sunset I'd sent away for the summer I was convinced I was going to be an artist. I found out I could color in lines but past that I was pretty helpless.

The bathroom was in the worst state, but that didn't entirely surprise me. The tub had a thick line around the rim and there was sticky old soap caked in the dish. The sink had a hairline crack coming out from the faucet, but when I turned the knob no water leaked. The pipes rattled, but the water seemed fine, and the toilet was in surprisingly good condition. Coupled with the price, this was definitely the best place we'd seen thus far, and I was to the point where I just wanted to find a place.

I took a deep breath and looked at Della hopefully. "What do you think?"

Della looked around, peering at the cracked sink, the cobwebs and dust, the ugly appliances and the scuffed floor. I could almost see the cogs in her brain working, see the wheels turning as she made mental lists of what needed to be done. Her eyes lingered on the dusty curtains and I could see her fingers twitch. She would make new ones, of that I was certain.

"… _has potential…"_

My eyes widened as Della's voice drifted through my mind. For the first time I heard her, she didn't hear me. I looked at her in shock.

" _Della,"_ I thought cautiously, then louder and more forcefully, _"Della!"_ Her brow furrowed. And a third time _, "Dell!"_

She flinched slightly and turned to me, her eyes widening as her mouth turned down in a frown. I heard her voice in my head again, small and uncertain.

" _Nessie? You can hear me?"_

" _Clear as crystal, honey."_

"… _Well damn."_

I resisted the urge to let out a startled laugh at the curse. Vinny was looking at us strangely and I realized that the silence of our mental conversation was dragging on weirdly long. I cleared my throat and asked aloud, "What do you think, Della?"

Della looked around one more time, a wide, sweeping glance.

"Six of one, half a dozen of the other," she said carelessly. Vinny looked blank, but I beamed.

"We'll take it," I translated, and he beamed back. His hand plunged into the inner pocket of his suit and he plucked out a thick packet of papers and brandished them triumphantly.

"I was hoping you'd say that!"

* * *

 **Della**

It was agony, plain and simple. Nessie had offered to hunt around the building for someone to help her move the furniture and boxes into the apartment from the back of the trunk but I wouldn't let her. This place was supposed to be our new start and I wanted to be a part of that start, burns and pain be damned.

The edge of the bed frame dug into my fingers, but it felt like it was slicing clear to the bone on my burned hand. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead from pain as much as effort and I wished I could let go of my pride enough to let Nessie ask for help, but no way in hell was that happening, so I grit my teeth and bore it as we angled the frame carefully and began to guide it up the stairs.

"Up a little higher?" Nessie requested. I tightened my grip, my fingers throbbing in response, and heaved my end higher. "Got it!" she said triumphantly. Working together we guided it down the landing and through the door, into the bedroom. It joined the mattress and pieces already in the room. It was only one bed, barely big enough for two. It would work for now, but we'd need a second one soon enough.

I flexed and curled my fingers and resisted the urge to reach up and rub my aching shoulder. It would only make it hurt worse. Nessie's calculating eyes fixed on my hand and I knew she'd noticed the gesture, but bless her, she didn't say anything.

"Just a couple more loads!" she announced brightly, rubbing her palms together. "Shall we?"

I nodded as we walked back out the door that we'd propped open with a random rock picked up from the empty lot. I froze and so did Nessie at the sight of two men standing by our truck, examining it curiously.

"Who d'you think Vinny found to take the dust bin?" asked the taller, dark-haired one. The second, a blonde who was almost small enough to be a boy, shrugged in response.

"I dunno, some out-of-towner?"

"Pretty far out of town, I'd say," the brunette said skeptically, running a hand over the rusty fender and coming back with a streak of orange across his hand. "Jesus, this thing is held together by rust."

I scowled. My truck was a piece of garbage and I knew it but it had gotten me through a hell of a lot and it was about the only thing worth having that I'd ever gotten from my father. I was defensive of it. Nessie could insult it, because it came from a place of love and concern for me driving around in it, but some stranger who was hanging around and looking over all our things without so much as an introduction?

No.

"And yet it still runs fine, rust and all," I said shortly, crossing my arms and scowling down at the pair in the lot below. Nessie placed her hands on the railing and peered down curiously as the two men jumped and turned around. They were in their twenties, probably the same age as us. They were both blue-eyed lookers. Well, the brunette was, the blonde might be with a little more meat on his bones. Good _lord,_ but he was skinny! Years of Southern breeding had me wanting to bring the poor feller inside and make him dinner.

"You must be the new neighbors," said the brunette with an easy smile. He had an easy sort of demeanor to him, wearing slacks and a button-front shirt with his suspenders out and his sleeves rolled up. He leaned his lower back against the fender of my truck and crossed his arms over his chest, grinning at us.

"The boys next door," Nessie muttered, remembering as well as I did what Vinny had said about getting help from them if we needed it.

I thought of what we'd done earlier. My thoughts had been drifting, sliding around like oil on water. It felt like they sort of hung on something, a leaf caught against a rock in the middle of a creek. Then I heard Nessie's voice in my head, first uncertain, then loud enough give me a fright.

I tried to mimic it. I let my mind start to slide, reaching out, stretching, spreading out without direction. And then I felt them catch against a small little node to my left that had to be Nessie's mind. I wrapped my thoughts around it and slipped inside seamlessly.

" _Ness, can you hear me?"_

" _Della? How are you doing this?"_

" _No earthly idea. Do you want to ask them to help?"_ I was half-expecting the answer already. This would go much faster if she wasn't waiting on me to catch up to her with my bum arm. And she might be warm, but I was freezing and the sky overhead was starting to threaten rain. Anything caught outside when the clouds opened up would be soaked, and the last thing we needed was soggy furniture.

" _Do you mind?"_ Nessie's response was hopeful but hesitant.

" _Of course not,"_ I lied, and she beamed at the two men below us.

"Yes, we're the new neighbors," she said aloud. "My name's Nessie Lowery, and this is my best friend, Della Moran."

"This is Steve, and I'm Bucky," the brunette said, gesturing to his blonde friend. Steve tucked his hands into the pockets of his worn tan canvas jacket and inclined his head shyly to them.

"Ma'am," he murmured politely.

"Ya'll mind helpin' with the last couple loads?" Nessie asked sweetly. I gave her a side eye and resisted the urge to smirk. Normally Nessie was an innocent, dainty little thing, but when it came to getting favors from men she was a master. On the fellows who passed through town, all she had to do was bat her eyes a little bit and tilt her accent closer to Southern than country, and they were eating out of the palm of her hand. It was a power she wielded happily, though not maliciously.

"No problem," Bucky said, and pushed off the fender to grab a hold of the rocking chair still lying on its side. He pulled it out of the bed and started carting it up the stairs as Steve grabbed a box of books that looked like it might actually weight more than he did. He grunted with effort and his arms shook, but he managed to lift it up. I eyed him in concern, but the walkway was suddenly very crammed with myself, Nessie, Bucky, and my grandpa's rocking chair all clumped together. I turned on my heel and hustled back inside.

"This place is gonna need some work," Bucky observed as he brought in the chair, careful not to bang it on the lintels. "Where do you want this?" he asked me.

"Doesn't matter, I'll have to move it to do the floors tomorrow anyway."

"Oh!" Nessie was looking at me worriedly. "I was thinking you'd go look for work and I'd do the cleaning."

"I'm faster," I countered simply.

"Usually, but…" Nessie trailed off. I knew what she meant. Normally I was a whirling dervish once I got into a cleaning spree, dusting and polishing everything in sight but with my arm the way it was I'd be working at half speed. And after moving things today, my arm would be a mess of pain just starting out, never mind once I'd spent a couple hours scrubbing.

The truth was I wasn't ready to face the city yet. I knew that Nessie was enraptured by it – she used to hang on pictures and stories from big cities that showed up in the news, in awe of the massive buildings and the crush of people. She was a lively person, and the hustle and bustle of a city suited her. I was not. I was a country girl, plain and simple. Even Bowling Green was too much for my taste some days when we drove an hour and a half to the city.

On top of that, the buzzing of thoughts had been bad enough when it was just Nessie and I in my house and no one else for a mile in any direction, but here in the city, with everyone packed together, it was like I was trying to stand up straight against someone pushing on my shoulder all the time, only it was holding back the thoughts of others, and this was a mostly residential area. I honestly didn't know how I'd handle a busier part of town.

Steev provided a good distraction, staggering in with his load of books. "S'cuse me," he murmured, his cheeks red as he slipped past Nessie to set the books down on one of the trunks sitting in the middle of the floor.

He and Bucky left to get another load and Nessie was instantly at my side.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" she asked worriedly. "Driving is one thing, but that's a lot of activity…"

"I don't think it's a good idea," I admitted wearily. "It's gonna hurt like hell, but I'm just… I'm not ready to move on quite that much just yet. Let me hide in here for a day or two," I requested, nearly begging.

I could still see it behind my eyes. Whatever had happened to me had sharpened my mind, because now instead of seeing the events in the diner through blood dripping in my eyes and a spinning haze it was all crystal clear, down to the wrinkles in Connors's shirt and the tiny smear of gun oil on Pistol's thumb. I could remember it all and it flashed at times behind my eyelids when I blinked and I felt like I couldn't breathe. Things like that didn't happen, but it had, and it happened to me…

"Don't do that!" Nessie said firmly. She reached out and cupped my cheeks, forcing me to look in her eyes. "Don't you start dwelling, Della. You know how you get. You'll crawl down that hole and won't be able to get back out."

"I know," I sighed, and patted her hand on my cheek thankfully. "I think I'm okay though, really."

Nessie looked skeptical, but we could hear Bucky and Steve stumping along the walkway outside through the open door, and the time to talk about things like that had passed. She dropped her hands and shot me one last caring look. I let my mind stretch and wrap around and slide into her thoughts once more. I felt concern, and more than that, determination that this would work. It gave me hope to feel Nessie's own, and I noticed a melody twining under her thoughts, like a soundtrack. It was high, light, and sweet. Comforting, an almost maternal feeling to it, like a lullaby.

It soothed me.

* * *

Bucky groaned and stretched his arms overhead as he and Steve entered their shared apartments. For all his complaints once upon a time about getting by on his own, finances forced his hand. Steve couldn't pay for an apartment on the freelance art jobs he got. He was good, but hardly a household name. And he continued to take art classes, trying to get better, to make more money as he became more qualified. Bucky himself didn't make a whole lot as a delivery boy. It just made sense for them to pool their resources and get a place together.

The place was a hodge-podge of accumulated furniture from both of them – the scratched dining table and the hard wooden chairs that his boss had given him when he said he was looking for furniture. There was the white couch patterned with vines that had been Steve's mother's. Steve's art was tacked to the wall in place of pictures or decorations, and more often than not there were shoes or suspenders or belts on the floor somewhere, having been carelessly discarded after the end of the day.

"New neighbors," Steve said, sitting down on the couch and kicking his shoes off. He reached down and began to rub his sock feet with a wince – a day of traipsing all over the city on flat feet wasn't exactly a stroll in the park.

"Wonder where they're from," Bucky mused, going to the cupboard. He grabbed a glass and filled it at the tap. Bringing in boxes for the girls had worked up a little bit of a sweat and he chugged three quick gulps from the glass before proposing, "Georgia, maybe?"

"I dunno," Steve shrugged. "I've never left Brooklyn," he said with a small, wistful smile. Bucky chuckled and collapsed onto the couch next to Steve, also kicking his shoes off. He smacked a hand down on Steve's shoulder companionably.

"Soon enough you'll be a famous artist running all over the world for jobs."

Steve snorted. "Yeah, maybe I can fly as an unaccompanied minor."

Bucky sniggered. "There's the spirit. Although I don't think Nessie saw it that way," he added slyly.

Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Please, if one of them goes for one of us, they'll go for you. Nessie's a good three inches taller than me and Della looks like she could kick my butt. No, scratch that, she looked like she could kick _your_ butt." He laughed as Bucky winced.

"Yeah, she didn't appreciate my comment about her truck."

"No she did not," Steve laughed, spirits bolstered. "I'm sure you'll win her over soon enough," he assured his friend, who actually looked a little glum to have met a woman who didn't swoon at the sight of him.

* * *

 **Frankly guys, I'm just not feeling Marvel right now. I feel like that's what happened with my last story. I was forcing myself to write something I wasn't interested in and it came out like I didn't want it too. Probably when the next Cap movie comes out I'll pick this back up, so it's not gone for good, but for now...**

 **I'm a Potter girl. In a Potter world. I write fanfics... It's fantastic!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Nessie**

I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs and smiled into the pillow. The space next to me that Della used to occupy was cold to the touch, so I knew who was out in the kitchen making breakfast. I sat up and yawned, rolling out of bed. My nightgown went flying into the hamper and I pulled on my clothes. Stretching my arms over my head, I padded to the bathroom in my stockings. I brushed my teeth, let my hair down out of the pin curls it had been setting in overnight, and fixed it up. A slick of red lipstick and I was ready for the day.

"Morning," I said, stepping into the kitchen. The radio was playing softly to one side and Della was humming as she pranced around the room on her tiptoes, darting between the ice box and the stove. I never understood it, but from the moment Della stepped into the kitchen she was up on her toes, prancing around like she was on stage.

It was good to see her like that though. For the first time since we'd gotten here she was smiling softly. Della loved cooking and I think it did her good to do something so normal, just like she would have done in her home before all of this happened.

"Coffee's ready," she said, nodding to the cup that was steaming on the table. I could see that it was a milky brown color and smiled. We both took our coffee the same way – so milky it didn't taste like coffee anymore.

"Thanks," I said, and sat down at the table, pulling the mug closer and taking a fortifying sip. I was prepared for the warm liquid to rush through me and settle pleasantly in my stomach, warming me from the inside like my morning coffee always did in the fall and winter. But I hadn't really paid attention… I wasn't cold. The floors didn't chill my bare feet and the air didn't prickle my bare skin. Without even thinking I'd pulled on a short-sleeved summer dress and despite the fact that Della was bundled up, I felt fine. To coffee seemed lukewarm at best to me.

I sighed in disappointment as I set it back on the table.

"You'll adjust."

I looked up sharply. Della was facing the stove again, but she was clearly addressing me from the large pile of bacon and pancakes that she was tending to equally. I noticed that her gloves were gone and the bandages on her arm seemed fresh. How early had she gotten up?

"Are you reading my mind again?" I asked. It came out a little sharper than I intended it to.

Della's head shook side to side. "No, I just heard that sigh and took a wild guess as to what caused it. I know your coffee order as well as I know mine, so I know it wasn't that."

I sighed again and absently traced my finger around the rim of the mug. It was a forest green bit of Depression glass from my home. I used it most mornings for coffee. I knew exactly how the heated glass should feel under my fingertips, but I might as well have just pulled it out of the cupboard.

"It doesn't matter," I said forcefully, trying to convince myself as much as assure Della I was okay. "We can't change it, so we've just gotta…" That warm spot in my stomach, I reached into it and shoved it out along my hand. My fingers sparked with flame. "Get used to it."

"Nessie!" Della hissed, and glanced pointedly at the window. I winced and quickly doused my hand.

"Sorry, sorry!" I said quickly, and wrapped my hands around my mug thoughtfully. I looked at the stack of pancakes on the counter and blinked. There were a half dozen and Della was flipping another one in the pan. There was another plate that was piled high with bacon.

"Hungry?" I asked mildly.

Della scoffed and set down the bowl of pancake mix. With her bare fingers, she reached into the popping bacon in the cast iron skillet and flipped it over. She'd been sewing since she was old enough to hold a needle and years of pricking herself had built up calluses. I'd always been fascinated by her ability to flip bacon barehanded without even a flinch as her fingers touched the grease. With a start, I realized that I could probably do it too now.

"You're gonna take some of this over to the boys to say thanks for helping us move yesterday."

I blinked. "How do you know they're still over there? They might have already left… or they might have already eaten."

"They haven't," Della said, but she sounded uncertain. She turned towards the wall that joined our apartments and squinted at it like she could peer through. In a way, I guess she could. She tilted her head and tried to explain, "I can feel their minds there, like little burrs, and they're still asleep."

"What the difference between awake and asleep?" I asked her curiously. My abilities were fairly blunt - I could set stuff on fire, become fire. But Della's were a bit of a mystery that we were still working out. She would read minds and project her own thoughts into them, but beyond that, we didn't know. She'd always been smart though, and I didn't doubt that she'd figure out how to do more.

"Awake is more alert," she tried to explain. "Focused. When you're asleep, you're still thinking, but it's… fragmented, jumpy, like a record that keeps skipping. It's fuzzier too."

I bobbed my eyebrows. "Well, I guess that makes sense."

"That's the best I've got," Della said with a shrug. She picked up our plates, bacon and two pancakes each, and set them on the table before retrieving her own half-drunk cup of coffee from where it had been sitting by the stove. She grabbed the butter and some forks and knives, and we sat down to eat.

"These are good," I praised as I took a bit of the pancakes after smothering them in butter.

"Thanks. I can teach you to make them."

I shook my head. "No, you remember what happened last time?"

 _Last time_ being the last time she tried to teach me to make pancakes. I got a little too excited with the batter and spilled it on the range. I tried to wipe it up with a rag, only for the rag to drag through the flame and catch. My response had been to scream and hurl the rag in the sink where it burned for a moment before Della had the good sense to turn the water on.

I was a kitchen hazard when it came to cooking, but strangely enough, I could bake. Cookies and cakes always just made so much more sense to me than meats and potatoes. Della did the meals, and I covered desert. She mended and sewed clothes, and I did laundry. We both cleaned. Whatever one of us couldn't do the other could and we'd traded off chores for years like that. Della would drop off a casserole and a bag of linens and I'd send her home with a skirt to hem and a pie.

"They're up," Della said suddenly. I blinked. It took me a moment to understand what she meant. Steve and Bucky must have just gotten out of bed. I nodded and said,

"I'll go over in a couple minutes, give them time to get presentable."

Della nodded in approval and went to set the plates on the ranges she'd turned off. They were still a little warm and they would keep the food warm for a while.

"So I'll look around town today, make a list of jobs for you to look into once you feel up to it and I'll try and find myself something," I recited. "and you're going to spend the whole day cleaning?"

Della nodded. "Do you mind running to get groceries before you come home?"

I shook my head. "Course not, just tell me what we need and I'll get it."

"They're dressed now, so you run the food over to them and I'll get a list made up," Della requested as she stood up to try and find a piece of paper. I raised an eyebrow at her slyly.

"And were you watching them get dressed, Delly?"

Della's eyes widened and she whipped around to stare at me in disbelief. I chuckled at the horrified look on her face.

"Nessie!" she hissed. "I am not some kind of pervert!"

"You're the one watching men get dressed," I countered, still giggling.

"Ooh!" Della seized the dish towel off the counter top and swished it at me. I caught it and dropped it onto the table, standing up and grabbing the plates off the range. I yipped as Della seized the towel again and snapped it against my arm.

"Knock it off!" I laughed as I darted for the front door as fast as I dared. Della chuckled and pulled the door open for me. I scuttled out onto the walkway and over to Steve and Bucky's door. Given that I didn't have any hands free, I raised my foot and kicked the door a few times to get their attention.

"Special delivery!" I called.

"Who is it?" I heard Steve call from inside. His voice was still raspy and deep from sleep. The door swung open and his eyes widened as he looked up at me. I was a full three inches taller than he was and I almost felt a bit bad about it.

"Nessie?" His eyes drifted to the plates in my hands. "Is this for us?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes. It's a thank you for helping us move things yesterday," I said brightly. Steve smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"You didn't have to do that, we were just being neighborly."

"I didn't," I admitted. "Della did. For ya'll's safety, I will never cook for you," I said with my own nervous smile.

"Steve, who's at the door?"

Bucky's head popped around the corner and he grinned when he saw me. The grin widened when he saw the food.

"Hey Nessie! That for us?"

"Uh huh, Della made extra," I explained.

"You gonna make her stand there in the doorway while we eat it, Steve?" Bucky asked pointedly. Steve jumped and held the door open wider, stepping inside so that I could come in. I stared around – the place was a hodge-podge of furniture that looked like it had been scavenged from a half dozen different places. There were shoes tossed here and there along with the odd belt or jacket hanging over the back of a chair.

I set the plates down on the dining table and turned with a grin, clasping my hands in front of my thighs.

"Enjoy the food, boys, and let us know if we can do anything for ya!" I smiled.

Bucky grabbed a fork from the drawer and sat down at the table, cutting off a piece of pancake and popping it in his mouth. His eyes widened and he beckoned Steve over.

"You gotta try this!" he urged.

"Good?" I asked knowingly.

"You're an amazing cook," Bucky praised. I shook my head and snorted.

"No, like I told Steve, I'm a terrible cook. I burn things. Baking, though, that I can do. This is all Della's work."

"She made me breakfast too? You sure this wasn't all supposed to go to Steve?" Bucky asked wryly. I huffed a laugh.

"Della's a bit stand-offish, but she'll warm up to you. Just keep your mouth shut about her truck," I advised. "It's a piece of junk, and she knows it, but it's her baby. Oh!" I recalled. "And I meant to ask, where's the best place to get groceries around here?"

"End of the block, turn right, and Sally's Grocery is on the left side of the street about halfway down the block," Steve rattled off.

"Thanks," I said gratefully, patting his shoulder. "I've got to run, I'm looking for a job today, but Della will be home all day, so just drop off the plates when you're done."

"Will do," Steve promised. "We'll wash them first," he offered.

"Do or don't, doesn't matter," I shrugged. I gave them a parting smile. "Enjoy your breakfast, boys."

Bucky quickly swallowed a mouthful of pancake that ballooned out his cheeks. "Not gonna be a problem," he assured me. "Good luck with the job hunt, and tell Della thanks for us, yeah?"

"I will," I promised, and turned to go. Steve hopped up and darted to the door, holding it open for me. I smiled at him.

"Thanks, darlin'," I said, and stepped out, heading back into our apartment.

"Did they like it?" Della asked from where she was treating the cast iron skillet she'd cooked the morning bacon in with cooking oil. Her dishes were already soaking in the sink.

"Of course they did," I assured her. "I got directions to a grocery. Where's the list?"

Della nodded towards the table, where a pad of paper lay open. Her handwriting was terrible, but luckily I'd had years deciphering it so I was able to make out the words.

"Milk, meat, g- garbanzo beans?" I tried, frowning at the paper. Della gave me a withering look.

" _Garbage bags."_

I squinted at the two words written at the bottom of the page. "No, I'm pretty sure that says garbanzo beans."

"And _I'm_ pretty sure it says garbage bags!" Della huffed. "Do I need to get the dish towel again?"

"No, that won't be necessary," I laughed, ripping the paper off the pad and shoving it in my pocket. I strode towards the door and slid my feet into my pumps. "I'll be back… well, sometime."

"You'll be back when you get back," Della reasoned, and waved me off.

* * *

 **Della**

It was cold, but throwing open the windows was the quickest and fastest way to air the place out and start getting rid of the smell. I pulled down the curtains and washed them in the tub before hanging them up on the lines strung across the lot behind the building. That was the easy stuff. Everything else would take quite a bit of time and effort, and I wasn't much looking forwards to it.

In the bathroom closet we'd found a small stock of cleaning utensils that looked as dirty as the rest of the apartment. I dragged out the duster first and started dusting everything I could reach before climbing up on one of the chairs from the dining set and dragging it around the room, reaching up to get the cobwebs out of the corners and off the lights. It took nearly an hour and a half before the dusting was done and the only reason I wasn't sneezing up a storm was because I'd had the foresight to tie a wet rag across the bottom half of my face.

I plunked the bucket into the tub and turned the faucet on, filling it up with warm water and dumping in a bar of cheap soap to make bubbles. I grunted in effort and pain as the thin wire handle of the bucket dug into my fingers when I hauled it out into the living room. It hit the ground with a loud clang and some of the soapy water sloshed out. Checking to make sure none of my hair had come loose from the scarf I'd tied over it, I got down on my hands and knees with a scrub brush and went to work on the wood.

As I worked, I sang along to the radio. It was a station that played some of my favorites, like Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. I was a sucker for their crooning voices and I freely admitted it. That's what I always wanted to do with my life is become a singer. I always thought the best way to live would be to find a way to get paid for doing what you loved, and singing was what I loved. I was pretty decent too, in my own estimation. I was no Ella Fitzgerald, but then again no one was. I was too much of a realist though to believe that a poor girl from a tiny town in Kentucky that didn't even rate being on maps was going to make it big. My luck had never been good enough to be one of those one in a million success stories.

I smiled as a soft, tinkling tune began to play and my scrubbing slowed. I began to sing along to the melancholy tune, a dreamy smile on my face.

" _I'll never smile again until I smile at you. I'll never laugh again… What good would it do?"_ I sang along. This song was a favorite of mine, one of Tommy Dorsey's. Then again, Nessie liked to joke that every song I'd ever heard was my favorite, and she wouldn't be far off. I just loved music, instrumental or vocalized, whatever.

The song finished and after three more songs I'd managed to scrub the whole floor of the place and I was feeling pretty proud of myself as I dumped the murky water out of the bucket and down the drain in the bathroom. I turned my brush on the tub itself, working to get rid of the ring. My arm was aching by that point. It was just another way to show that the world was against me that it was my dominant arm that had been burned. It was a blistering mess of pain by the time I finished scrubbing the tub and moved on to the kitchen.

I'd dug out enough cookware to manage breakfast this morning but there was still quite a bit still left in boxes that were strewn around the place. I dragged them into the kitchen and began to move them into the cupboards – glasses, mugs, plates, bowls, pots, and pans. The morning's dishes had dried, so they were put back up as well. I was singing along to _An Apple for the Teacher_ , enjoying switching between the male and female voice parts, as I unpacked pictures and hung them on the wall to try and hide the faded bits on the wallpaper.

"You've got a set of pipes."

I yelped and whirled around. Bucky was leaning his forearms on the window sill, grinning at me, the plates from the morning dishes in his hands. I paled as I realized that my sleeves had been rolled up to keep them from getting messy as I worked and the bandages covering my arm would have been completely on display. In a desperate attempt to keep him from noticing as I saw his eyes start to drift that way, my mind lunged at his.

" _Don't see it!"_ It was a mental order, a command, and I felt something in his mind give and mold against the words. I saw his eyes start to go a bit fuzzy and for a second I thought I'd done something horrible to his mind. But when his eyes rested on my arm, he just muttered vaguely, "I don't see it."

I stared at him in horror as his expression began to clear as he looked at my eyes instead of my arm. He frowned slightly, looking at me in concern.

"Something wrong, Della?" he asked.

I licked my lips, trying to grasp what I'd done. That wasn't just reading his mind or sending a thought… I'd felt something bend to my will. I'd _made_ him not notice that my arm was covered in bandages. I could… It wasn't just seeing what was already there, I could make a person do what I wanted, and the thought was both fascinating and terrifying. My heart thundered and I felt one hand come up to press against my chest like I was trying to smother it. I was sure Bucky would be able to hear it, would realize my guilt.

"I-I'll say!" I said sharply. "You scared the life outta me!"

Bucky gave a half-smirk, half-grin, and I got the feeling he wasn't even remotely sorry about it either. "Sorry, I just wanted to sit and listen to the show for a minute. You really are pretty good," he mentioned.

I shook my head, blushing slightly. "I really ain't," I said darkly. "I just… like it. You- you said you brought the dishes back?"

"Yeah, here you are," Bucky said, and held the plates out to me. I approached him cautiously, reaching out with my bandaged hand to take them. Bucky's eyes went fuzzy as he glanced at my hand and once more he whispered, "Don't see it," and his eyes skated over it like there was nothing there.

"Thank you," I said weakly, hugging the dishes to my chest.

"Steve washed them, so they should be clean," Bucky explained. "The pancakes were really good, best I've ever had."

I raised an eyebrow. "Now do you really mean that or are you trying to make up for what you said about my truck yesterday?" I challenged.

Bucky shrugged, unapologetic. "Both."

Against my best wishes, I cracked a small grin. Something about his laid-back, carefree attitude was endearing. Add to that the fact that he was one of those people whose faces had been kissed by angels, and I didn't doubt that he was a hit with other ladies. Was that his plan in coming over here and making friendly conversation, trying to get me on his arm? Unfortunately for him if that was his plan, I needed a little bit more than a cocky grin and a pair of pretty blue eyes.

"Well, you're forgiven for the truck." I absolved him. "Just don't talk bad about her again."

"Her?" Bucky asked in amusement. "She got a name?"

I snorted and shook my head helplessly. "Yes. Her name is Ethel. My pa named her."

Bucky turned from the window and glanced over the railing towards my truck. He threw up a hand in this big wave and hollered, "Sorry about yesterday Ethel!"

The man who lived in the apartment on the end of the walkway was just coming out of his room for the day, his hat on his head and a briefcase in his hand. He gave Bucky a sideways look and Bucky grinned back, unabashed.

"Morning, Mr. Benson."

Mr. Benson nodded at him uncertainly. "James," he said slowly, before turning and making his way down the stairs.

I tilted my head at him curiously. "James?"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders in response. "If you go by my birth certificate, my name is James Buchanan Barnes. But I've always just been Bucky."

I chuckled at that. "Well, I know that feeling."

Bucky raised an eyebrow curiously and leaned a little further through the window. "You telling me your name isn't Della?"

"Not if you go by my birth certificate," I echoed with a sly smile. "But I've always been Della."

"Well come on, what's your name?" Bucky asked interestedly. I shook my head vehemently.

"No way on god's green earth."

"I told you mine!" He pouted like a little boy told he couldn't have a cookie before supper. His lip thrust out and he looked up at me with pitiful, hang-dog eyes. I held firm. Only Nessie's puppy dog eyes had ever been able to sway me.

"And I ain't telling you mine," I said firmly. "I hate it."

"Come on, it can't be that bad," Bucky reasoned. "Mildred? Bertha?"

"Now how in the world would I have gotten Della from Bertha?" I asked in bemusement.

"I dunno, but it's gotta be bad if you won't tell me. I'm gonna find out though," he said confidently.

I scoffed. "Better men than you have tried, honey," I said smugly, shaking my head. "It never worked for them either."

Bucky shrugged and straightened up out of the window frame. He slid his hands into his pocket casually and grinned at me with a lazy sort of confidence. "None of those men were from Brooklyn. We Brooklyn boys go after what we want until I get it."

I arched an eyebrow. "And we country girls know how to keep nosy gentlemen callers out of our business."

Bucky laughed at that, his shoulder shaking. "Alright. I've got to head to work now, but I'll see you later… Daphne?"

I scoffed. "As if!"

Bucky snapped his fingers in disappointment. "I'll get it some day," he warned.

"I really highly doubt that."

* * *

Bucky whistled under his breath as he strolled down the streets of Brooklyn to the grocery store where he did deliveries, his hands shoved in his pockets. He nodded to the old lady who owned the diner on the corner as she stepped outside to water the flowers she'd put in the planters. Mary switched them out by the season so that there were always flowers and sometimes she gave him and Steve milkshakes that had been sent back when they walked home from an evening at the gym or at an art class Steve had dragged him to. Bucky didn't mind drawing, but he didn't love it the way Steve did, and he wasn't near as good either.

His mind drifted back to the conversation he'd had with Miss Della Moran whose name wasn't Della. She'd at least loosened up around him. Nessie wasn't kidding when she said Della was a stand-offish sort of lady at first. So was Steve at times, but that came more from shyness. Dells seemed just outright suspicious of everyone he met. He was certain there was a story there but he doubted he'd be getting it anytime soon. Hell, he hadn't even gotten her name yet and he'd only barely earned himself a smile and a bit of banter.

Della's face had definitely softened though. She was a pretty thing, but her features were something he didn't think he'd ever quite seen before. She kept her black hair scraped back from her face in a tight braided bun. Her skin had a healthy sort of glow to it. She had big, blue eyes and high, sharp cheekbones. Coupled with a pointed chin, her features were angular to the point of being austere… until her lips quirked up, he'd just learned, and then there was a bit of softness around her cheeks. And on top of that, she had curves enough to make a man fall to his knees and thank god.

Nessie was definitely the sweeter of the two, with red hair falling around her shoulders in pin curls and cute, small features. Bright eyes, a button nose, and a small mouth, she looked almost childlike in her face. She was built a lot differently than Della, with straighter lines and longer limbs. She looked like someone had grabbed her by the head and feet and stretched her just slightly.

Her smiles came a lot easier and a lot more readily. She was louder, seemed happier, and was polite and kind. She was the kind of lady that was easy to talk with about anything, you could just shoot the breeze. She'd walked into their apartment to deliver breakfast that morning and had settled right into the morning routine like she'd been bringing them breakfast for years, laughing about her lack of ability when it came to cooking and offering to help them if they needed it.

Bucky grinned. He and Steve had really lucked out with the new neighbors.


	6. Chapter 6

**Nessie**

Della was hunched over the table, her hands cupping a mug of hot tea. Her shoulders stiffened so much they shook every now and then and her eyes stared sightlessly into the dark tea like she was trying to find the bottom of the bottomless. Her fingers laced together against the tan, speckled ceramic, the stark white of the bandages clashing against the bare skin of her other fingers.

"So you… controlled him?" I said slowly, and predictably, Della's shoulders stiffened up once more.

"I didn't… mean to," she answered. "I reached out like I did when I was talking with you in my head. Only I sort of… of shoved a thought out. And he couldn't look at my arm. Or… or he could," she struggled to explain, "but it was like his brain wouldn't let him register what he was seeing."

I sat back in my chair wearily and pressed my free had to my head, the other wrapped around my own cup of tea. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," I murmured. "That's something."

"I didn't mean to!" Della insisted. "It wasn't on purpose, I swear-"

"I know," I assured her quickly, before she could spiral off into a swirl of self-hatred. "You're not the kind of person who'd do something like that."

"Am I not?" Della asked bitterly. "Because now that I know I can, I want to keep it going."

My eyes widened slightly. "I don't… you do? What's so bad about them seeing, really?" I asked.

Della averted her eyes and stared at the kitchen floor. It was swept clean and sparkling now, it was truly impressive how much Della had managed to get done while I was running around looking for work. I'd found some, too, a shop down the road looking for a sales associate. I'd be selling shoes from now on.

"It sparks questions," Della finally answered. "Questions I don't want to have to answer."

"So you're just never going to let anyone notice that your arm is burned?" I asked wryly. The feat sounded impossible to me. She would have to slip thoughts into the mind of everyone around her, ever, and what happened if she was hurt and no one could see her arm? No one would know. Then again, it probably sounded impossible to her to light her hand on fire, yet I could do it with just a flick of my wrist. "Del, you can't live your life hiding like that."

"Why?" Della's eyes snapped up, challenging and cool. She stared me down. "Because in case you haven't noticed, you can't look at my arm either."

I blinked and immediately tried to counter her statement, glancing at her arm. But she was right. My eyes slid over it and my thoughts were like water as I tried to focus, sliding to rest on the color of her dress or the knot in the wood on the table by her arm. I knew the burn was there, knew the bandages were there, but I couldn't make myself look at the arm. If I hadn't known, I would never have noticed.

"How are you…?" I had felt Della in my head before when she spoke. There was a sort of presence, and I imagined it would be the same when she tried to plant a thought there too. But I didn't feel her in my head. I just couldn't make my eyes or my thoughts focus where I wanted them too.

"I started… playing," Della admitted. "After he left, I started trying different things. It's hard to explain, but it's like… like I'm filtering your perception. You only see the parts of what you're looking at that I want you to see. But I'm not doing it just to you. It's like… like a blanket effect."

Once again I leaned back in my chair and felt my brain begin to throb like it had the time Della had tried to explain factoring polynomials to me. I wasn't stupid, but I didn't have anything on her and I'd always known it. I was fine with being of average intelligence though. There were worse things to be.

"It's a good thing you got this mind stuff," I murmured. "I'd be so lost…"

Della huffed a laugh. "And honestly? I think I'd panic every time I so much as sparked."

I grinned crookedly. "Well, at least we've got that going for us." I shook my head helplessly. "I can't tell you how to use your abilities. Seems to me though, that what you're doing now is a lot nicer than planting thoughts in poor Bucky's head."

Della nodded in agreement. "That was my thinking as well."

I bit my bottom lip thoughtfully and changed the subject. "I found work," I offered, and Della perked up in interest.

"Where? Doing what?"

"Shoe store," I explained. "They'd just lost two girls. One kept calling out and the other just walked, I hear."

Della wrinkled her nose. She tapped the ceramic of her glass against the wood of the table. "Sounds like it might not be the best place."

I shrugged. "I can handle it, whatever it is," I said with confidence. A bad boss seemed like the least of my worries after the events of the diner. Honestly, I agreed with Della's assessment of the place, but it was work and the pay was surprisingly good for what it was, and they were willing to let me start immediately. I could look for something better when we had a bit of a nest egg going.

"Find anything I might be able to do?" Della asked.

I reached in my pocket and pulled out a notepad. Della took it curiously and flipped it open. Inside I'd written down lists of places that were hiring, their addresses, the position, the pay offered. Della looked up at me knowingly from the list and smirked.

"You and your lists."

"I wanted you to be prepared," I said defensively as Della chuckled to herself.

"Right, right," she said dismissively. She stood up from the table and carefully bent her burned arm at the elbow, flexing it out. She winced, but didn't show any other signs of discomfort, which was more than I'd expected.

"You got groceries," Della commented as she ventured towards the cupboard and started to look inside at what I'd brought home. There were basic staples like flour, sugar, cereal, milk, eggs. Other than that, I hadn't bothered. I knew Della could do a lot with a little, so I'd wait for her to request anything other than simple meat and potatoes to try and bring it home.

"What are you making tonight?" I asked her curiously, turning in my chair to watch as she continued to rummage through the pantries.

"I was thinking corn bread, maybe a vegetable beef stew. That'll keep for a few days for us to eat on."

I nodded in agreement and smiled. That was one of my favorites of all Della's dishes. It never came out the same, because the vegetables were always whatever had been leftover and the meat was whatever cut of beef was cheap at the butcher, but it always came out well.

"Sounds good," I said, and Della glanced at the window.

"Might oughta get going on it too, then," she commented as she looked from the sky to the clock on the wall. "Stews always taste better the longer they've cooked."

I nodded in agreement and opened my mouth to comment when there was a knock on the door.

"It's Steve," Della commented and paused, wrinkling her nose and scrunching up her mouth. "That's getting entirely too easy entirely too fast," she observed as I stood up and headed for the door. She opened a cabinet and began loudly digging through the pots for the one she wanted.

"You can't help it," I reminded her as I pulled the door open. I wasn't at all surprised to see Steve standing on the landing. He was without that canvas jacket of his, with his hands shoved in his pockets and his breath puffing in the air. "Steve?" I said, surprised not by his presence but by his lack of winter gear. Opening the door, the sudden cold took my breath away.

"Come in, come in!" I urged, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him inside, shutting the door behind him. "Jesus, honey, you'll freeze solid out there without a coat! What were you thinking?"

Steve smiled weakly. "I was thinking I'd only be out there for a couple a seconds. I didn't think the cold would get in my bones so fast."

"Silly," I said, putting my hands on my hips and shaking my head disapprovingly. "It's a cold wind, that'll get 'cha faster than anything!"

"So I noticed," Steve said sheepishly. "I actually came over to, ah, invite you to dinner."

Della paused her clanking in the kitchen and looked over her shoulder at us. "Well I'm glad you came over when you did then," she said, straightening up and shutting the cabinet door.

"To what do we owe the invitation?" I asked in surprise.

Steve shrugged. "Well, you guys fixed breakfast this morning, so we thought we'd take care of dinner."

I laughed. "Oh, that's not necessary!" I assured him. "We were just being friendly!"

"Well, so are we," Steve agreed with a grin. "I picked up some ingredients on my way back from my class and Bucky's trying to make pizza, so we'll see how that goes."

"James not the best in the kitchen?" Della called from our own.

Steve hesitated. "We're both… functional, I suppose," he admitted. "But usually when he tries to be creative things are a little touch-and-go."

"Well we'd love to come, even if it will be a little uncertain how dinner will turn out," I said in amusement. "I'll be sure to tell Bucky how well you sold his cooking."

"Yeah, I'm not doing so good at that am I?" Steve snorted.

"What do you want us to bring?" Della called from the kitchen. Steve blinked.

"Oh, uh… yourselves?" he offered. He looked between the two of them blankly. "You don't have to bring anything."

I chuckled softly and explained, "Yes, we kind of do. You never go to someone else's place for a meal without bringing something. We'll do dessert," I offered.

"Well, she'll do dessert," Della corrected as she stepped from the kitchen and joined us by the door. "I wouldn't want to poison you poor boys."

Steve smiled faintly. "You really don't have to-"

"We do," Della corrected him and Steve laughed.

"Alright then, I won't stop you from bringing something sweet – Lord knows Bucky would kill me if I did – but you really don't," he insisted.

"Do," I sang, and pushed him towards the door. "Now go on, get over there and get warm again, and I'll start on a cake. Ooh, or cookies?" I mused, glancing over my shoulder at Della. "What do you think Dells?"

She snorted and held up her hands. "I'm abandoning the kitchen for now, Ness, you're on your own."

Steve chuckled at us as he opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. "You two really have known each other forever, haven't you?" he said wryly.

"Pretty much since first grade."

* * *

 **Della**

It was exactly six o'clock when Bucky hit the wall between our apartments and hollered, "Dinner's ready, ladies!"

Nessie laughed as she finished drizzling the glaze onto the Jimmy cake she'd managed to throw together and tossed a few more sprinkles on top.

"I think they're ready for us," she said as she nudged a couple of sprinkles out of a pile so they spread out more evenly. I scoffed as I stood up from the chair in the living room and Nessie picked up her cake platter. I held the door for her as we stepped out onto the landing and, like they'd been waiting for the sound of ours, Bucky threw open his apartment door and beckoned us inside.

"Ladies, your table at Chez Bucky and Steve awaits," he said with a wink and stepped aside. Nessie laughed and I smiled faintly as we stepped inside. Nessie passed her cake over to Steve, who took it curiously and breathed in deeply.

"Smells great, Nessie!" he praised, and she blushed.

"Thanks Steve, it's my momma's recipe."

"I hear you're trying to make pizza," I said, crossing my arms and lingering by the door with Bucky as Nessie and Steve moved into the kitchen.

"It's not trying if I succeeded," he said with a wink. I took a deep breath in and could smell dough and tomato sauce in the air. Bucky apparently had succeeded, because there was no lingering smell of burning. "How's it smell?" he asked knowingly.

"Surprising," I said, and admitted grudgingly. "I've never learned how to make pizza."

Bucky grinned. "Don't worry, I'll teach you if you want to learn," he promised, and gestured for me to follow him into the kitchen. The pizza was laid out on a large platter in the middle of the table, all gooey cheese and sizzling sauce, flavored with pepperoni and onions and garlic.

Steve pulled out Nessie's chair for her and Bucky did the same for me as we all took our seats.

"I'll be mother," Steve offered and picked up a piece of pizza, settling it on Nessie's plate. "I washed my hands," he added quickly. "But the plate's too hot to move, so…"

Nessie laughed. "I'm not worried," she assured him, patting his arm thankfully. Bucky handed me a piece and I breathed in again. It really did smell good and I was so very tempted to let myself drift into his thoughts and find out how to make it and where he'd learned, but I quickly stopped myself, cursing inwardly. It was becoming entirely too tempting to use my abilities to find out information that could be gained just as easily by asking.

"Mm, this is delicious!" Nessie praised as she swallowed her first bite. I jerked, realizing that everyone else had been served and started to tuck in while I was lost in thought.

"It's one of Bucky's best dishes," Steve replied.

Bucky leaned over. I flinched. I could feel him against my burned shoulder and the pressure throbbed a little, but far more surprising was the warm burst of air against my ear as he asked, "Something wrong? You okay?"

I shook my head quickly. "Just lost in thought," I said quickly, and to brush off any further questions, I picked up my pizza and took a bite as Bucky leaned away. Nessie wasn't lying, it really was good, far better than I'd expected.

"Where did you learn to make this?" I asked, keeping my mind to myself.

"I dated an Italian girl whose family owned a pizza place," Bucky explained with a shrug. "Picked up a few things. I'm nowhere as good as her dad was, but it's pretty good." He looked down at his plate rather proudly and I smiled faintly. So he was the type who was proud of his accomplishments, even the small ones, for the sake of doing something new. I liked that in a person.

"That was Renata, right?" Steve recalled.

"No, Antonia. Renata was the one whose family had a grocery," Bucky corrected him. I raised an eyebrow.

"Get around, do you?" I asked knowingly.

Bucky shrugged. "Hey, what can I say, I'm a loveable guy!"

I snorted. "I'm sure." I took another bite of my pizza and Nessie kicked me under the table, the faint tightness in her smile saying very clearly _play nice_. I pinched my lips right back at her and sent a thought her way.

" _What? I'm just making conversation."_

Her arched eyebrow showed she didn't believe me. But she changed the subject, looking around at all of the sheets of paper tacked to the walls, the cabinets, scattered on the furniture. Some were on actual drawing paper, but others were on the back of receipts or napkins, doodled in the corner of a newspaper, or sketched on a brown paper bag from a shop.

"So is all of this your doing, Steve?" Nessie asked curiously, gesturing to the closest sketch, one of Central Park, hanging on the wall of the kitchen. It was just a black and white pencil sketch, but it was shaded in such a way that shadows and light could still be seen without blurring the edges of features.

"Some of it's Bucky," Steve said, dipping his head, suddenly a little shy. "He draws too."

Bucky scoffed. "If it doesn't look like it could go in a museum, it's mine. If it does, it's Steve. I had to learn to draw. Someone had to go along with him to class to keep him from getting into a fight on the way home."

Steve flushed. "I'm not that bad," he muttered into his second slice of pizza.

"You don't really seem like a fighter," Nessie observed, looking sideways at him quizzically. Steve went redder and his shoulders hiked higher.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Nessie's eyes widened, realizing how he'd taken it. She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Oh, no Steve! I didn't mean it like that! I just meant you seem more like the type to talk than throw a punch."

Steve's face was still red, but his shoulders lowered and he didn't seem quite as defensive.

"That's the problem." Bucky looked at Steve with the air of an exasperated mother dealing with an unruly child. "He hears somebody shooting their mouth off, he tries to talk them into keeping their mouths shut. Only problem is that he's not very threatening, so a lot of people think he's got a glass jaw."

"Do you?" Nessie asked him uncertainly.

Steve looked a bit proud as he straightened up and shook his head.

"He doesn't," Bucky chuckled. "Doesn't know how to stay down. Don't know how many times I've had to wade in to keep him from getting his stubborn hind end kicked."

Steve looked at Bucky sternly. "I don't like bullies," he said firmly.

"I agree with Steve," I cut in, and all eyes turned to me. "People who would use their position or their size or their strength to lord over someone else just because they can? Those are people the world could do without." To my credit, there was only a hint of bitterness in my voice.

"Well said," Steve agreed, then hesitated and added, "Though I might have said it without the last bit."

I smirked faintly. "Not bad for a girl with an eighth grade education, eh?"

Steve choked on his pizza slightly. "Really?" he asked, looking startled. "I mean… what happened?"

I snorted. "I didn't fail out, so don't worry about insulting me. My family was poor and I had to start working, and pa needed someone to work the fields when he couldn't."

"Was he sick?" Bucky asked curiously.

"In a way," I replied, and took another bite of pizza. "Bucky, you are gonna have to teach me how to make this. I'll trade you my recipe for shepherd's pie if you like."

Bucky grinned crookedly. "Sounds good. Keeps me and Steve from eating the same things day after day."

I shook my head and looked at Nessie knowingly.

"We're gonna have to feed them," she informed me.

"I know," I sighed.

Steve jumped in. "You don't have to-"

"We're Southern. We feed people," Nessie quipped. "It's what we do."

"Can't say I'd turn down something I didn't have to make," Bucky admitted. He gestured at Steve across the table. "If that one there would learn a few more recipes…"

"We'll keep you both fed, you don't have to worry," Nessie assured them, one again patting Steve's arm. "So long as you don't mind doing a chore or two for us in exchange."

"Wouldn't be a problem," Steve assured her. "We'd be happy to help you both get settled, right Buck?"

"Sure," he nodded, taking another bite of his pizza. He looked at me sideways and nudged my arm. My eyes widened in pain and my jaw clenched. I kept my eyes carefully ahead and saw Nessie tense and learn forward a little, looking slightly worried for me.

"When do you want to learn how to make pizza with me?" he asked as Steve drew Nessie into a conversation about art.

"I've gotta find work, first," I told him sternly. "But then we'll talk about it."

Bucky nodded and leaned back in satisfaction. "You're warming up to me," he said confidently. "I can tell."

I smirked at my plate, one corner of my mouth drawing up. I let out a breath through my nose and glanced sideways at him. "Don't push it," I said lightly. "And you keep your mouth shut about my truck from now on, ya hear?"

"Scout's honor," Bucky said, holding up his hand. I scoffed and pushed his hand down into his lap, lifting up the other one.

"There ya go."

"So where are you both from?" Steve asked suddenly. "I don't think we ever asked."

Nessie and I exchanged knowing looks. "Guess," she challenged, taking a smug little bite of her pizza before scrubbing her fingers on her napkin and sitting back in her chair. "Whoever gets closest gets the biggest piece of cake," she offered.

"Ooh, sorry about that Steve, but that cake looks good," Bucky said, grinning crookedly at his friend. "You're going down."

"Likewise," Steve said, and turned to face Nessie a little more. "Are you from Virginia?"

"Try again," I said, setting down my pizza with a smile, interested in their game. No way would they ever get the town right. I'd be gobsmacked if they even managed to get the county right.

"Alabama," Bucky tried. I gave him a dirty look.

" _Excuse you."_

He held up his hands. "Sorry. Mississippi?"

"Hang on, it's my turn!" Steve protested jokingly.

"We never established turns," Bucky disagreed. "Come on Steve, there's cake in the balance, it's every man for himself."

"Fine then, I'll guess Tennessee," Steve tried.

"No and no," Nessie sang, looking at me in amusement. "Warmer, though."

"Kentucky!" Bucky cried, and Nessie flashed him a thumbs up.

"Now guess the city," I said with a snort, all set to watch them scramble for a minute or two more.

Steve and Bucky exchanged helpless looks. Clearly, they weren't terribly well-versed in the towns of Kentucky. I didn't blame them though. Most people weren't. It was hardly New York or California.

"Uh… Louisville?" Steve attempted.

"Lexington," Bucky jumped in. "Is that the capital?" he asked Steve.

"Everyone thinks that, but no," I laughed. "And neither of those are correct."

"Frankfurt!" Steve recalled, snapping his fingers. "That's the capital, right?"

"Yes, but no," Nessie said, looking at him fondly. "Keep going, boys."

"You are thinking way too big," I advised. "We're not from any of the main cities."

Bucky groaned. "Then it's hopeless."

"We could be from Bug Tussle," Nessie offered.

"Pig."

"Monkey's Eyebrow."

"Possum Trot."

"Knob Lick."

We fired back and forth, grins on our faces.

"They're kidding," Bucky said to Steve. "They have to be kidding. There's no way those are real places."

"We're cheating a little," Nessie commented to me. "It's not technically a town, it's an unincorporated community, there's no way they'd know it."

"I'll point those places out to you on a map if you like," I said with a faint smile. "They're all real places. But no, we're not from any of those."

"I think Bucky won the biggest piece since he got the state," Nessie grinned.

Steve and Bucky exchanged looks over top of the pizza.

"They have to be kidding," Bucky said matter-of-factly. "They just have to be."

* * *

 **Yes, these are all real towns in Kentucky, which seriously has an alarming amount of oddly-named towns.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Nessie**

My first day off coincided with Della's first day of work as a seamstress at a place a couple block over. It was now about two weeks since our first dinner with the boys, and there had been more meals together since. Della's bandages were finally off and she was ready to face New York, and I was settled into my new job and, at least today, responsible for the grocery shopping.

The last dinner we'd made had been a roast to feed all four of us and it had wiped out the last of our meat and vegetables. I strode down the street with three large brown paper bags in my arms. I could smell coffee coming from the can that was right under my nose and felt my stomach rumble. Della's job started early and I hadn't made breakfast that morning. It was getting closer to noon now and I was starting to feel it.

I kept walking, heading for the apartment. I'd heat up the last of the vegetables from last night and have that before I got to work on sewing the curtains that I'd picked up fabric for the day before.

I was mentally planning out the rest of the day when I stopped outside an alleyway. There was the sound of fists on flesh and someone gave a wheezing cough. I frowned and turned to peer down the alleyway. It was dark, but I could vaguely make out three shapes. Two big whaling on one small. The small one had blonde hair and was wearing a very familiar canvas jacket.

"Steve?" I called uncertainly, and the two larger men froze and whipped around to look at me. I frowned at them and strode down the alleyway. The smaller figure was slumped on the ground, an arm around their middle, and when I got closer I saw that sure enough, it was Steve. His face was bruised and bloody and he would have a shiner before the day was out. His nose was crooked, definitely broken, and his lip was split. Judging by the way he was holding his stomach, he probably had a decent amount of bruising under his shirt too.

"Oh honey…" I breathed, and felt rage rise up in me. My skin started to heat and I knew that I was about to burst into flame. I had to take a deep breath as the paper under my hands began to smoke. Quickly I set down the bags, hoping to hide the fact that I'd just made them smoke, and instead put my hands on my hips, facing down the two larger men.

"Now just what in god's name is going on here?" I demanded of them. They were both dark-haired and muscular, with a couple inches and a few dozen pounds each on Steve.

"Nessie," Steve wheezed from the ground. "This isn't your fight…"

"Oh yes it is!" I insisted as images flashed before my mind of Della turning up on my porch, her face or body bruised up and a burning rage in her eyes. I couldn't help her then – she wouldn't let me – but I could help Steve now, and I was gonna do it.

"What do you two think you're doing, going after Steve like that?" I demanded of them angrily. "You just take swings at anybody you meet on the street?"

One of them sneered down at me. "The twig was running his mouth, so me and Jason decided to shut it for him. It ain't your problem, candy gams."

" _Candy gams!"_ I exploded. "That ain't my name and I can see why Steve lit into you if you were talking like that. You kiss your mothers with those mouths? I've half a mind to wash your mouths out with the soap I just bought!" I pushed between them and crouched down by Steve, looking him over in concern. "Are you alright, Steve honey?"

Steve looked deeply ashamed. I didn't think it was because of his actions, though. He was the sort to fight for what he believed in and that was nothing to be ashamed of. He was embarrassed that he was losing as bad as he was and that I had seen him like this. His blue eyes wouldn't come up from the concrete and look at me.

"I'm fine," he muttered, but it was undermined by the blood that sprayed from his lips when he spoke.

"No, you ain't," I said firmly, and stood back up, placing my hands on my hips and facing the two big fellows again, scowling thunderously. They were looking between Steve and me in shock.

"How'd a twig like him get a firecracker like you?" demanded the one who hadn't opened his mouth yet. And sadly, that was what he chose to open his mouth to say.

"That's none of your business!" I snapped at him. "Now I think you've both done enough here today." They looked at me in bemusement. "Go on, get!" I flapped my skirt at them and stomped my foot like I was herding chickens and they exchanged amused looks. I knew I wasn't as threatening as some people could be, but at least I got them to walk away. They headed right out of the alley mouth and I turned around to look at Steve, who had dragged himself into a sitting position against the wall and was scrubbing at his split lip with the back of his hand and wincing.

"Oh, not with your hand, you'll stain your sleeves!" I huffed, and knelt beside him again, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. "Use that."

"It'll stain-" Steve protested, and tried to hand it back, but I rolled my eyes.

"Steve, I've gotten blood out of that hankie before and, considering who I'm spending time with, I'll probably have to do it again," I huffed. "Now mop yourself up and let's get you home, alright?"

Steve winced as he pressed the handkerchief to his mouth and nose and began to carefully try and mop up the blood without touching the injuries. It was a lost cause though. I pulled his free hand over my shoulder and got him to his feet.

"Are you good to walk on your own?" I asked him worriedly, and Steve nodded. I hurried over and picked up my bags of groceries. "Then let's get you home and get you patched up."

"You don't have to-" I gave Steve a look that cut him off sharply. "At least let me help with your groceries?" he offered, and I shook my head.

"Ain't happening. Now march."

Steve smiled faintly as we stepped out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk and headed for the apartments. "You're bossy when you've got someone to nurse."

I smiled proudly. "Thanks, that's sweet."

We kept walking and I kept a weather eye on Steve, making sure he wasn't about to pass out or was having trouble walking. His legs seemed fine though, it was from the waist up that he seemed to have been laid into, which was a mercy in a way. At least we didn't have any problems walking home, aside from the several startled looks were go from the bruises on Steve's face and bloody handkerchief in his hand.

"Did you mean me?" Steve asked suddenly, and I blinked.

"Mean you what?"

"You said 'considering the people you spend time with.' Did you mean me? Because I honestly don't get into all that many fights, Buck just likes to exaggerate and give me a hard time."

I winced, realizing how that must have sounded, like I was already blaming Steve for potentially soiling my handkerchief in potential future situations.

"I was thinking about Della, actually," I admitted, and Steve looked surprised. "She used to get hurt a lot," I replied and hoped my tone was casual enough to keep Steve from pressing.

"She doesn't seem that clumsy," Steve said, frowning slightly, but he didn't press.

We mounted the stairs that led up to our apartments and I gave Steve a stern look.

"I'm gonna go set down groceries, and then I'll be over to patch you up." Once again, Steve opened his mouth to protest, but I shook my head. "Nope! I have experience in this Steve." I looked at him hopefully. I felt like I was begging, but there had been so many times I hadn't been able to help Della put herself back together. I wanted to make up for lost opportunities to care. "Please, let me?"

Steve relented, nodding. He blushed a little at the attention and quickly pressed the handkerchief to his nose again, trying to hide it. I smothered a smile and scuttled to our door, sliding the key in and opening the door. I set the bags down on the counter and quickly put what needed to be in the refrigerator away. The rest of it could wait a while.

Steve had left his apartment door open, so I walked right in and shut the door behind me. I heard grunting from the kitchen and walked in cautiously to see Steve on his tip toes, straining to reach a large white box on one of the shelves in the cabinet. It was awful of me, but I had to suppress a laugh at the sight. He was so small… Even I had a few inches on him, and I was no giant.

"Let me," I said, and hurried to the counter, reaching up and stretching. I managed to hook my fingers through the handle and drag it down. On the box was a big red cross. I looked from the large first aid kit to Steve knowingly.

"Bucky put it up last," Steve mumbled, now red down his neck and hiding behind the handkerchief again. "He's a little over-prepared…"

"I'm sure," I said soothingly, and grabbed his free hand, dragging him into the living room. Steve sat down on the couch and I plopped myself next to him. The springs creaked when we sat, that and the grubby print making me confident that this thing was at least third-hand. I set the first aid kit on the coffee table and flipped the latches, opening it with a squeak. Inside was an arsenal of tongue depressors, band-aids, gauze, cotton balls, bandages, an inhaler, and even a little bottle of morphine and a syringe. I gave that and the inhaler a wide berth and instead got up and headed for the bathroom, dampening a wash rag and bringing it back out, a few drips running down my fingers.

"Wash your face off," I said gently, passing the rag to Steve. He took it and began dutifully and carefully scrubbing at the blood until I could get a better idea of what I was working with. Namely a split lip, broken nose, black eye, and a cut on his cheek under his eye. One of those big lugs must have been wearing a ring. I scowled.

"Well, luckily I don't see anything deep enough to need stitches," I announced. "Let's see to that nose first, huh?" Steve nodded and I reached forwards, bracing my hand on his forehead. I gently pinched his nose between the knuckles of my pointer and middle finger.

"On three?" I explained. "One…" I yanked. Steve cursed and I whipped my hands back. His hands jumped to his nose as his eyes watered from the pain.

"Oh, I… sorry…" he mumbled. "Just… what happened to two and three?"

I smiled. "Trust me, there's no word you can say I haven't heard before, honey. And I'm just doing it how I was taught."

"Who taught you?" Steve grumbled as he carefully prodded his nose and winced a little when he hit the actual break.

"Della," I replied absently and reached up to dab at a little trickle of blood running from the cut on his cheek. "That should stop bleeding soon enough, but if you'd like I can dab some flour on it."

"Flour?"

"Yep. It absorbs moisture, clots little cuts right up." I nodded to his shirt. "Now, take that off and I'll have a look at your ribs."

Steve turned brilliantly red, which was sort of expected, and also a little bit adorable. He crossed his arms protectively over his chest, like he thought I might try and rip his shirt off of him if he didn't ward me off. He made a face as he did it though, so those guys had definitely gotten him good in the ribs and stomach.

"I'd rather not-" he said uncertainly, but I just gave him a firm look.

"Come on, Steve, please? I want to make sure they didn't crack a rib."

"They didn't," Steve said quickly.

"How do you know?" I stressed. "If they did, then you'll want to take it easy for a couple weeks so that one good knock doesn't break something all the way."

Steve shifted and scowled, but finally relented. He shucked off his jacket, wincing as he did, and pushed the suspenders down off his shoulders. Finally, his hands went to the buttons on his shirt and he began to slowly undo them one at a time, like he was reconvincing himself to go through with this with every one.

It took me a moment to realize why – he was embarrassed. Steve was skinny as a rail, not exactly the idealized strapping young man. I looked at him in sympathy. I knew what it was like to be uncomfortable with your body. I'd always wanted to have curves like Della, with her hourglass shape and large chest, no matter how much she assured me it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I certainly didn't like stripping down for people, even for a physical, and that was with a female doctor and everything.

"Ooh." I hissed in sympathy when I saw the big red splotches starting to darken into purple on Steve's stomach and side. A couple looked like they might have been kicks instead of punches. Carefully, I reached out and began to press gently along Steve's ribs, feeling for any hint of inflammation. It was easy to find and follow his ribs. Lord but he was skinny, his chest bone nearly concave and his ribs clearly visible through his skin.

"Sorry," Steve muttered, his face still bright red. I blinked up at him.

"For?"

"I, uh…" Steve awkwardly glanced down at his chest and then looked away. "Nothing."

I softened. "Oh Steve…" I chuckled and shook my head. "For all I care you could have warts and a leer. You've got a good heart, I figured that out in just a couple days of knowing you. What it's inside doesn't particularly matter."

I was really starting to worry about him. It could be good for you to be that red for that long, but Steve seemed to be trying to set a new record for longest flush.

"Thanks. For that and for this." Steve reached up and prodded his nose again. I swatted his hand lightly.

"Don't keep poking at it, silly!" I scolded. "I think you're fine," I added, pulling my hands away from his ribs. "Maybe sit down with an ice pack for a while, but that's the extent of my medical advice."

"You ever considered being a nurse?" Steve asked with a wry smile as he pulled his shirt back on. "You'd be pretty good at it."

I laughed. "A nurse, me? No." I shook my head. "I get squeamish around blood. Not little cuts, but a lot of blood. I tried to help Della deliver a calf once and I threw up when all of the afterbirth came out." I blushed and winced as I recalled how Della had teased me for it for weeks afterwards. "And then I did it again when the dog started eating it."

Steve looked appropriately disgusted. "It _what?"_

"It's very rich in nutrients," I recited, trying to sound as blasé and knowledgeable about it as Della had when I'd asked her why in the world the dog thought it looked like a good snack.

"I think I'd lose my lunch too," Steve admitted sheepishly. "That's pretty gross."

"Imagine me in an emergency room. I'd be passing out every ten minutes!"

He laughed along with me, wincing as he did so and wrapping one arm around his waist. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts," he moaned, and I raised a hand to my mouth, trying to smother my laughter.

"Sorry, sorry."

* * *

 **Della**

"Adelaide!"

I knew the voice, but I kept walking, adjusting the strap on my purse so that it sat more securely on my shoulder. There were footsteps behind me, man's footsteps trailing me down the sidewalk, but I wasn't even remotely concerned.

"Adele!"

I rolled my eyes at that one and shook my head.

"Adeline?"

"You gonna just run through names until I tell you to stop?" I called over my shoulder. Bucky chuckled as he ran the few feet between us, catching up to walk by my side. I glanced sideways at him. He had a lazy grin on his face and his hands stuck in his pocket. The top couple of buttons on his shirt were open, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Rough day at the office?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. He reached up and swiped at his face with his arm, wincing a little bit.

"I had to unload a new delivery right before I got off work," he explained. He winked and shook a finger in my direction. I stared at the wagging finger in bemusement. "Don't think you'll change the subject that easily… Delaney?"

"Even if you did guess, I wouldn't tell you," I informed him. "Only a handful of people know my real name and I'd prefer it if that number was lower, actually."

"Come on, it can't be as bad as Buchanan." Bucky made a face.

"Oh, it can," I replied darkly, scowling at the thought.

"There's a guy two floors up from us named Dudley Smythe. Is it worse than that?" Bucky challenged, and I scoffed.

"Yes, it is."

"So I'm gonna have to trick it out of you?" Bucky wheedled, bobbing his eyebrows at me teasingly. "I bet I could do it."

"I really don't think you can," I said smugly. "It's a secret I'll take to my grave, and that's not changing because of you."

"Delois?"

"Stop," I said, trying for firm but it came out exasperated. Bucky held up his hands in surrender. He took a couple quick steps and started walking backwards in front of me down the sidewalk. I watched him nervously.

"You're gonna run into someone, James."

"No. I'm not," Bucky said confidently. "So, when am I teaching you how to make pizza, huh? I'd hate to think of poor Nessie starving because you can't cook properly." I narrowed my eyes at him and Bucky shuddered dramatically. "Does it suddenly seem cold to you?"

"It'd be a shame if I had to cut Steve off from my pancakes just because you couldn't watch your mouth," I said warningly. "He could use some meat on his bones. How about this Saturday?" I added. "I don't have to work and we'll have some free time."

"Sounds good," Bucky agreed cheerfully. "I'll have the ingredients ready and waiting."

A passerby on the sidewalk had to quickly step out of the way of Bucky as he continued to walk backwards. He gave Bucky a dirty look and muttered something about 'kids these days.' I reached out and grabbed Bucky's arm, yanking so that he was walking next to me again.

"You're gonna hurt yourself or somebody else," I scolded.

"Aw, you care." Bucky winked. "I knew you were warming up to me."

I smirked faintly. "You're not completely intolerable."

"Would it make you like me more if I invited you over for a drink?"

My smile fell slightly. "I don't drink much," I said quietly.

I didn't like drinking for pleasure. I'd make a toast if necessary, have a shot of whiskey to help sleep or fight off a cold, but going out for the express purpose of drinking, or buying a bottle to take home for myself, it had never sat well with me. I knew what too much did to people, and logically I knew it was fine to have a few drinks every now and then. But then I'd wonder if that was how my dad started out. A few drinks now and then, and then a few more, and a few more.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a teetotaler."

I huffed. "I'm not a _teetotaler._ I just don't drink recreationally. Nessie doesn't drink much either," I said defensively, before admitting, "Then again she is a lightweight."

We had reached the empty lot behind out apartment building and Bucky stepped aside to let me go up the stairs first. I nodded to him thankfully as I walked up to the landing.

"I'll see you around, Delancey," Bucky said, looking at me hopefully, and I shook my head as I inserted the key into the lock on my door.

"Not even close," I informed him as he swung open the door to his apartment. I started to step into ours, when his stopped me with a confused, "Nessie?"

Curious, I shut our door back and stepped to look over Bucky's shoulder. Nessie was sitting on the couch next to Steve with a first aid kit open on the coffee table and a bloody rag slowly leaking onto the wood. Nessie had a smile on her face and so did Steve, although he didn't look like he had much reason to be smiling. He had a black eye, busted lip, and a cut on his cheek. He looked from Nessie to Bucky, seeming almost guilty.

Bucky huffed and crossed his hands over his chest. He sounded like a concerned mother as he asked in exasperation, "What did you do now, punk?"

"Jerk," Steve mumbled.

"Some men on the street were saying lewd things to a lady and Steve took them to task for it," Nessie said, looking at Steve proudly. Then she winced and said, "They didn't appreciate it."

"Let me guess, they had a good few inches and a couple dozen pounds on him?" Bucky asked knowingly, and Nessie nodded, looking at Steve like she wasn't sure if she should be admitting this or not. Bucky shook his head. "Steve, if you're gonna pick fights, why can't you pick fights with smaller guys? Granted, that pretty much limits you to little kids…"

"Now you leave him alone!" Nessie said firmly, and Bucky blinked, surprised by her vehemence. His arms loosened from across his chest. "There is nothing wrong with him defending a lady's honor!"

"I didn't say there was!" Bucky said hastily. "But he can't fight back."

"Teach him."

All eyes turned to me as I spoke up for the first time. I nodded from Bucky to Steve. "Teach him how to throw a punch. You want him to stay safer, do something about it, don't just give him down the road for getting beat on. It ain't is fault he doesn't automatically now how to take a swing at someone."

Bucky winced. "That's… a fair point," he relented, and looked Steve up and down speculatively before announcing, "Stevie, from now on you and I are going to hit up that boxing gym three blocks over two or three times a week."

"Boxing." Steve looked uncertain. "I don't know if I'm really a boxing kind of guy."

"You'll never know unless you try," Nessie pointed out. "Please, Steve, give it a try?" she asked hopefully. "It'd really make me worry less if I didn't have to think about you being down an alley with a couple of thugs getting hit on."

Steve had his head down, but Nessie seemed to have gotten through to him. "I'll give it a try," Steve agreed reluctantly. "But I really don't know that I should be getting in the ring with people if you're worried about me getting hurt in fights."

"Who said anything about getting in a ring?" Bucky demanded, looking deeply disturbed at the idea. "I've seen the kind of guys who go in and out of there. You'd be a toothpick to them. No, I'll just teach you how to throw a punch, dodge a little, see how it goes. Try and get some actual muscle on those chicken bones you call arms," Bucky ribbed.

"And maybe you won't have to play doctor again," I added to Nessie. "After all, I know how you get around blood," I added with a grin.

Nessie groaned and covered her face in my hands. "I'd never seen that before, alright?" Apparently she'd shared that story with Steve, because he started laughing, clutching his injured torso as he did. Bucky stood in the middle of it all, looking horribly confused.

"What? What's funny?"

"Don't you tell him!" Nessie protested, and I shook my head.

"Oh don't worry, he's already proved that he can't worm anything out of me," I said smugly.

"Deloris?"

"Oh _hush James."_


	8. Chapter 8

**Nessie**

 _October 27, 1941_

 _Tensions Rise in Europe_

I shook my head and set the newspaper aside. It was too early to be reading about the horrors going on overseas, and on my day off besides. Della was at work and I was left home alone to enjoy a day relaxing, listening to music, and generally enjoy myself. Reading about the fighting going on was sure to do nothing but depress me until lunch, and I hadn't even had breakfast yet.

There was a knock on the door suddenly and I looked up from my steaming cup of coffee to the door. I hustled over and pulled it open.

"Bucky?" I greeted in surprise and pulled my robe tighter around my throat as the wind rushed in out of habit even though I didn't actually feel cold. It wasn't quite winter yet, but it was already starting to act like it. I could see my breath in the air and Bucky was wearing a pilly scarf and a worn coat. "It's early. What brings you by?"

Bucky was looking annoyed. "Steve does. He left his inhaler at home by mistake, and it's getting colder. Sometimes the cold will trigger his asthma."

I blinked. "Oh, I had no idea that could happen! I always thought it was just getting out of breath running around or something that did it?"

"Yeah, neither did I until Steve started wheezing on me one night," Bucky admitted ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I've got to get to work and I know it's your day off… I hate to ask, but would you mind running this to him at his art class?" he asked hopefully, pulling a small box out of his pocket and holding it out to me. It had a lot of medical jargon and a set of instruction written on the packaging, things I didn't understand but Steve probably did.

"If you can't it's fine!" Bucky said quickly. "Steve won't need it until he leaves class, so I should have time to get over there after my shift ends… He shouldn't have any issues, but you know… if he did and he didn't have it…"

"It's fine, Bucky," I assured him, reaching out and taking the box. "I don't mind to take it over to him. I'd hate to think of something happening when he tried to walk home."

Bucky looked relieved. "Thank you, Nessie. You're a doll."

"Just looking out for my neighbor," I replied with a smile. "I was looking for something to distract me from the paper anyway."

Bucky's face fell. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I read about that. Things are getting nasty over there, aren't they?" I nodded. "D'you… d'you think we'll get involved?"

I bit my lip. It was a question that was on a lot of Americans minds lately. Would we get drawn into this world war? If we did, who would go and who would stay? Which boys wouldn't make it back? It was a scary, uncertain time, but I couldn't help but think that we had it easy compared to the people in London having to do blackout drills, or the people in France getting bombed every other week. And all those poor people the Germans were persecuting and locking up…

"I couldn't say," I replied, and that was the best answer I had.

"Right," Bucky said, and shook himself like he was actually shaking off the depressing cloud thoughts of the situation in Europe caused. "Well, thanks Nessie. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Now you get on to work. Let me just put on some clothes and I'll go over."

Bucky looked me up and down, what little he could see of me through the crack in the door. I was wearing slippers, a bathrobe, and my hair was up in pin curls. "Change clothes? I think you look great!"

I gave Bucky a pointed look. "Go to work, Barnes."

Bucky laughed. "I'm going, I'm going. And Nessie?" I looked at him expectantly. Bucky was giving me an earnest look. "Seriously. Thanks."

"Well, I've heard it takes a village to raise a child," I replied. Bucky snorted.

"Yeah, and a whole damn apartment building to protect a Steve."

I laughed as Bucky headed for the stairs, waving over his shoulder. I ducked back into the apartment and shut the door behind me. I hurried to my room and quickly shucked my robe, fixing my hair and trading my pajamas for a thick stockings and a coat. I felt like I was sweating in all the winter gear, but I knew it would look strange to go out in the wind without some kind of protection, so I dealt with it as I tucked Steve's atomizer carefully into my coat pocket and headed out the door.

It wasn't a terribly long walk to the Auburndale Art School where Steve was taking classes. He'd graduated already, but he still went back to take the free classes offered to the general public. It was something for retirees to do in their free time or a way for young kids to practice and develop their interest in art. Steve had told me fondly after I'd patch him up about his when he was a kid his mother used to take him to those classes. They'd sit together and paint or draw. His mother wasn't very good, but Steve had always had a way with art.

I entered the building. There was a simple sign posted on the wall with an arrow pointing down the hall and I followed it around the corner into a large, open room where several people were milling around easels circled around an empty space. I could smell the scent of acrylic paint and paint thinner heavy in the air. I stepped into the room cautiously, shucking my coat and folding it over my arm. I peered around and found Steve sitting on a stool by an easel near the front, looking disappointed. Frowning, I walked over to him.

"Steve?"

Steve looked up in surprise. "Huh? Nessie? What're you doing here? This was a bad day to come to take a class."

"No," I chuckled, shaking my head. "I'm no artist. Bucky stopped by, he said you forgot something on your way out the house and wanted me to drop it off for you." I pulled the box out of my pocket and passed it over to Steve, who rolled his eyes but took it anyway.

"He's worse than a mother," Steve said with a mixture of fondness and frustration. "It's not cold enough yet for me to need this."

"Well, he worries," I reasoned. "At least it proves he cares. Right?"

"I'd prefer it if he cared a little less," Steve muttered as he tucked the box in his jacket pocket. He patted it and gave me a grateful look. "Thanks for this, though. I appreciate you coming all the way out here in the cold."

"It's not that cold, and a little walk never hurt anybody." I shrugged, and then paused. "Why is it a bad day to take a class?"

"The teacher had this dancer scheduled to come in so that we could practice drawing anatomy," Steve explained. "Only she twisted her ankle during practice yesterday and can't make it."

"Oh, that's unfortunate," I said honestly. "Poor woman. I've always had a lot of respect for ballerinas. It takes amazing strength to do what they do," I mused. "I always wanted to learn…"

"You wanted to be a ballerina?" Steve asked curiously. I nodded eagerly.

"Oh yes, I love dancing! There was an older woman in town who would teach ballroom dancing on the weekends at the church to children and I always went. I taught myself how to dance to tap and jazz and swing and pretty much anything I could."

"I'm sorry, did you say that you're a dancer?"

I turned around, surprised. Standing behind me was an older man with silver hair combed back carefully from his face, wearing trousers stained with flecks of paint and a button-front with the sleeves rolled up. He had thin-framed glasses perched on his nose and was looking me up and down speculatively.

"Yes, yes, you've got the build for it," he mused, and I flushed, crossing my arms self consciously over my skinny torso. He reached up and grabbed my chin, turning my head this way and that. "Decent bone structure… and very interesting hair!" He grabbed a bit of red hair and tugged it gently.

"Hey!" I protested, and backed away, feeling more than a little uncomfortable about being broken down to just a few desirable traits.

"Mr. Shell," Steve said warningly, standing up from his stool with a paintbrush in his hand. "Don't put hands on Nessie like that."

"My apologies," Shell said, waving his hands. He reached up and adjusted his glasses on his nose. "My dear, would you consent to modeling for our students here this afternoon."

I blinked. "I… modeling? Me? But I… I've never…"

"Come here, come here," Shell said, beckoning for me to follow him as he retreated to the corner of the room next to a counter that was covered in dried splotches of paint, battered brushes, and almost-gone tubes. He looked around like he was about to share some secret.

"To be frank," he murmured. "I can't find a dancer that wants to spend her time helping out an art class without getting paid for her work. Vivian was my last chance and I did so want to spend the next week doing anatomy with my students. What would it take to get you to come and model for us for the next week?"

I blinked. "Well I've never… I mean, are you sure you want me?" I asked uncertainly. I had, of course, seen the novels in the dime store with their covers featuring a gorgeous woman draped in a sheet while a passionate artist painted her as his muse, and made I'd even had my own fantasy or two, but realistically I'd never thought that anyone would be interested in painting me.

"Of course, of course!" Shell assured me. "Like I said, your hair, figure, you're a good substitute for Vivian. And far easier to work with," he mumbled under his breath. I wasn't sure I was supposed to hear that bit.

I bit my lip uncertainly. "I have work… I think my boss would let me off but I haven't been there very long and I'd hate for them to get the wrong impression of me if I asked for time off to model…"

Shell looked at me cunningly. "I heard you talking with Steve. You want to be a dancer?"

I nodded. "More than anything," I said honestly.

"It takes quite a bit to start out. Before you get booked you need an agent, before you get an agent you need head shots. I have a former student who is one of the best photographers in the city. If I could get you, say, two hours with him to build a portfolio free of charge, would you do this for me?"

I gaped at him. Of course I knew that becoming a dancer was a pipe dream, just like Della knew that chances weren't good that she'd be cutting a record deal any time soon. But I'd always been a little more hopeful. Hopeful enough that I had looked into the cost of having head shots professionally done and I was fully aware that Della and I wouldn't be able to afford them any time soon, if ever. And two hours… if I took an hour and Della took one… It might actually help us reach our dreams. Would that be great, if something good could come from us having to flee our hometown and come here, if we could actually get our dream careers?

"And you're sure he'd do that for you?" I asked Shell slowly. He nodded and again waved his hands dramatically.

"Of course, I got him his first major job. He owes me more than a few favors, my dear." He patted my shoulder. "Just leave me your phone number before you go and I'll call you later with the details once I've set it all up with Harold."

"Then I'm on board," I said with a smile, and thrust out my hand to shake on it.

"Oh, excellent, excellent!" Shell cheered, grabbing my hand in both of his own and pumping it up and down. He let me go and grabbed my shoulders, steering me over into the middle of the circle of easels. Steve looked at me curiously from around his canvas as Shell called the class to order. The students took their seats and I shifted a little under all the eyes as everyone looked at me questioningly.

"Sadly, our ballerina has injured herself and won't be available for our anatomy section," Shell said regretfully. "But fortune has smiled upon us today! We are joined by Miss… I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

"Nessie Lowery."

"By Miss Nessie Lowery, an aspiring dancer! She's agreed to model for us this afternoon." Shell leaned into my ear and murmured, "Do you know how to do fourth position?"

I took a moment to recall the starting positions of ballet, and then nodded, adjusting my feet and holding up my arms as gracefully as I could manage.

"Perfect, perfect!" Shell said approvingly. "Now, just stand like that until the end of class."

"Wait, what?"

I jerked and looked around with wide eyes, but Shell was already off, helping some little old lady with white hair adjust her grip on her brush for better control. I looked around and saw Steve smiling at me. Quickly, I got myself back into the correct position, wondering if I'd still be able to feel my arms by the time class was ended.

"How long is this class?" I whispered to Steve out of the side of my mouth.

"An hour," he replied. He looked between me and his canvas critically, a pencil in his hand and a focused expression on his face that I'd never seen before.

"I thought you were painting?" I asked him quizzically, drawing my brows together.

"Keep your expression light!" Shell cried from where he was now trying to get a tube of bright red paint away from a young boy who was sitting next to his very embarrassed mother. I quickly evened out my expression and Steve chuckled slightly.

"I am painting, but you should draw out the basic lines on the canvas first to give yourself a guide," he explained. I started to nodded in agreement, but quickly stopped myself for fear of Shell yelling from across the room again.

"Will I get to see these portraits?" I asked Steve curiously. "Or do I just have to trust no one's drawing funny things on my face?"

Steve snorted. "You'll probably see all of them at one stage or another. It's not like they're secret."

Around the room, I saw that some people were already cracking open paint tubes and squirting it out onto pallets, raising brushes aloft. I did see a couple of people who were doing like Steve and sketching me out first. I supposed that showed who was really passionate about art and who was simply here for fun.

The smell of paint began to fill the room. At first it was strong and burned my nose, but after a moment I got used to it and actually rather liked the way it blended with the charcoal and clay scent that hung in the air from countless years of art classes.

"Will you let me see yours?" I asked Steve after a few minutes of quiet.

Steve blinked. "Well, I don't see why not."

"Good," I said in satisfaction. "Because I like seeing your art. You're very good."

"You've never seen any of my paintings," Steve warned me. "I'm better at drawing than I am at painting."

"Well maybe, but you can't be that terrible, can you?" I reasoned. "Just don't give me a third eye or anything, please."

Steve smiled, but it was actually more of a smirk. He looked at me mischievously and swept his pencil across his canvas again. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

"What did you just draw, Steve?"

"A third eye," he replied innocently, and my feet actually uncrossed to go over and make sure he hadn't done exactly that.

"Keep your pose!" Shell cried, and I quickly returned to fourth position. Steve was laughing as he ducked back behind his canvas.

I gave Steve as annoyed a look as I could muster without moving any part of my body, which basically left me just looking in his direction and sending as many irritated feelings his way as I could. "Ooh, you see if I make you dessert ever again!"

I held that position for the rest of the hour and sure enough, when I was finally able to lower my arms and uncross my feet at the end my shoulders and ankles were sore and felt tight. I winced and rubbed my right shoulder.

"Let's have a round of applause for our lovely model," Shell called as he moved among the rows to join me in the middle. I flushed as the class applauded and dropped into a curtsey, because it felt like the thing to do. "Don't forget to place your paintings on the drying racks in the back, and I shall see you all again in two days!"

Steve carefully picked up his painting and moved it before returning to his stool and gathering his jacket. I waited for him by his easel and we walked out of the classroom together and down the hall, out into the cold air. Steve shivered a little when the wind first hit his face, but I felt nothing. I almost missed that feeling, of stepping from a warm room into the cold. At the time it had always seemed terrible, but it was bracing. There was something about it that perked you up and gave you energy. It made stepping back into warmth again all the sweeter. But now I was just… warm. Always warm, but never cozy.

"Something wrong?" Steve asked, looking at me in concern. "You're frowning."

"Nothing, just thinking," I assured him, and tightened my scarf around my throat for effect as we started walking back towards the apartment. "So this class meets every other day?"

"Uh huh," Steve nodded. "Most people come for fun or something to do, but Shell knows a lot of people and sometimes his friends drop by. I've had a few requests to do drawings of pets or children, but it's not quite enough to pay the bills."

I smiled. "And the bills just keep coming, don't they? You know, I always wanted to be a dancer but I never actually got to really devote much time to it because I had to pay the bills. That, and there aren't exactly a lot of big opportunities in Small Town, USA." I laughed a little. "Maybe it's a good thing Della and I came here."

"That's really what you want to do, you want to be a dancer?" Steve asked curiously.

"Yes," I said somewhat defensively. "I know that it's silly, but I just love dancing. People always say find something you love and figure out how to get paid for it."

"No, I'm not judging!" Steve corrected quickly. "It's just that I've never seen you dance. Are you any good?"

"Della says I am," I admitted. "I don't know thought. There's a lot of people who are better."

"Well, there's a lot of people that are better artists than I am," Steve retorted. "Should I pitch all my pencils and charcoal out and not try?"

I smiled. "Maybe you should. Become a therapist instead. You're decent at this motivation thing, at least."

"I would start quoting Freud," Steve offered, "if I knew anything about him." He shook his head as we shared a laugh. "So you taught yourself to dance?"

I nodded. "We had a theater one town over and I'd beg Della to drive me over to see recordings from events all over the country and scenes in movies. She can see something once and she never forgets it, so she would tell me if I was doing something wrong when I practiced. I'd spend hours in front of the mirror in my room trying to get moves just right."

"That's what I was like," Steve admitted. "I would draw pictures and make my ma tell me how they could be better. Of course, she always said that they were good, but she's my ma. She's supposed to say that."

I laughed. "My mom used to be like that before she died. Never an unkind word to say to anyone."

"That explains where you get it from, then," Steve noted with a grin.

"Hush!" I scolded, nudging Steve in the arm with my elbow. "It's not a bad thing."

"Didn't say it was," Steve pointed out, rubbing his arm. "Although you kind of undermine it if you compliment someone then punch them in the arm."

"I didn't punch you!" I protested. "I… lightly tapped you, if that!"

"I think I need a doctor," Steve joked. I huffed and thrust my hands into my pocket.

"You keep teasing me and I'll run on ahead and leave you to walk home alone!" I threatened.

Steve reached out and wrapped a hand around my arm. "Don't do that. Who would I talk about my complete lack of knowledge on Freud with if you left?"

I chuckled and we kept walking in silence for a few minutes, Steve's hand curled around my wrist. I didn't mind. In fact, I almost enjoyed it. His hands were cold from the wind and with them pressed against my skin directly, I could actually feel a difference in temperature. He seemed to have forgotten that he had a hold on me, though, because a few minutes later he jumped and quickly let go with a muttered, "Oh, sorry."

"I didn't mind."


	9. Chapter 9

**Della**

I left work and instead of heading to our apartment I stopped at Steve and Bucky's and knocked on the door.

"Come on in, Delora!"

I rolled my eyes and opened the door. Steve was sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the table, reading the newspaper. His fingers were stained with paint.

"Hey Della," he greeted as I walked in and stripped off my coat and scarf, hanging it up on the hook by the door.

"Hello, Steve," I replied. "Good class this morning?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Nessie dropped by to bring me an atomizer because _someone_ is a mother hen." He sent a dirty look in the direction of the kitchen, where Bucky was leaning against the wall with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a towel thrown over his shoulder.

"I would assume the mother hen is you?" I guessed, and Bucky tugged the towel off his shoulder leaning over and whacking Steve across the back of the head with it.

"Hey!" he protested, leaning forwards and scowling over his shoulder. He held the newspaper between himself and Bucky in defense. "Well, you were!"

"Ungrateful," Bucky accused.

"Speaking of my lesson, Nessie ended up staying to model for my class," Steve added to me, still not looking away from Bucky warily. "She said she had something to talk to you about when you're done here."

I raised an eyebrow, not sure what could have come from her modeling for an art class that warranted a serious conversation, but nonetheless I nodded.

"I'll talk to her when I take her home some pizza."

"Let's get started then," Bucky said, gesturing for me to follow him into the kitchen. I walked into the kitchen with him as he tossed the towel onto the counter next to a pile of ingredients. He held up a small card and passed it over to me. I took it and scanned the ingredients and directions curiously.

"I wrote it down for you, since you might not remember everything after just doing it once," Bucky explained.

I smiled faintly. "Actually, I don't ever forget things I've read. So now that you've given me this, I don't technically need you anymore." I turned and pretended to head back for the door and Bucky's jaw dropped open in disbelief. He was quick to catch my arm and pull me back, looking at me in disbelief. But then a smug smile broke across his face.

"Huh, so the more I get under your skin the more fun you are," he noted. "I'd better stop now before you start running around trying to short sheet my bed or glue my shoes to the floor."

I stared at Bucky, my expression blank. "I'll have you know that I'm a hilarious individual."

Steve called from the couch, "You sound like you're about to fall asleep."

"And I'll have you know that you are not by _any_ means 'getting under my skin,'" I informed Bucky sternly. "Now come on, I'm here to learn."

"If I'm teaching you, any chance I can get you to call me Professor Barnes?" Bucky wheedled.

"Goodbye, James."

"Wait, wait!" Bucky laughed, grabbing my arm and keeping me from heading for the door again. "Alright, so, making pizza." He clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. "Time to get serious. Well, for me to get serious. You always are," he corrected himself.

"What's first?" I asked.

"What, you don't remember?" Bucky teased. "I thought you never forgot anything you read?"

I gave him a pointed look and began to recite, "Dissolve yeast into warm water, leave for ten minutes. In another bowl, combine flour, salt, and shortening. Stir in yeast mixture. Knead on a lightly-floured surface until smooth-"

"Okay, okay!" Bucky said quickly, cutting me off. He gave me a sideways look. "You really don't forget anything you read, huh?"

"No," I said smugly, folding my hands behind my back. "I don't."

Bucky shook his head, still looking surprised, and pulled over a small bowl and a large one. "I went ahead and dissolved the yeast, so that's ready and waiting. Here's a bowl for mixing it all together."

I reached for the bag of flour and a measuring cup and measured out the amount that was listed on the card, pouring it into the bowl before adding the salt and shortening. Bucky proffered a wooden spoon and asked,

"Would you like to do the honors?"

I took the spoon from him and set the bowl on the counter, gripping one edge firmly. I began to stir, strong enough that everything mixed together quickly and easily but not hard enough to toss flour and salt everywhere in clouds. Bucky watched and nodded in approval.

"It's like you've done this before."

"Yes, I'm familiar with how to stir a spoon," I replied drily. "I've done it once or twice."

Bucky poured in the yeast and I began to mix it in as he dipped a hand into the flour and began to sprinkle it out onto the counter so that the mixture could be kneaded into dough. He dipped his hand into the bag for a second bit of flour and asked curiously,

"So anything you read, you never forget?"

"Anything I read or see, I don't forget. My memory isn't so good for things I just hear, but it's still fairly decent. It used to drive me crazy in school because I could recite my rote after one reading and then I had to wait while everyone else stumbled along for a few days before they could recite it too."

"What about things like, I dunno, Shakespeare?" Bucky pressed. "Did they make you read that in school? Can you recite stuff that was written a long time ago from memory?"

I gave Bucky a pointed look. "I didn't get past the eighth grade, remember? I had to drop out. But yes, they would have made us read Shakespeare. I read Romeo and Juliet on my own though, because it's one of those things you're supposed to have read, and it stuck just like everything else does. Language doesn't make a difference."

"That's crazy."

" _Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where we lay our scene, from ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes a pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; whose misadventured piteous overthrows do with their death bury their parents' strife."_

Bucky gave me a look of disbelief before shaking his head and accusing, "Now you're just showing off."

I smirked faintly as I scooped the dough out onto the flour. "Maybe a little."

I was unable to resist. I peered into Bucky's mind and listened to his thoughts. He was deeply impressed by my memory and also a little jealous. He was thinking that if he could do that he wouldn't have had so much trouble in his science class in high school. He also thought that I had a nice voice and that I sounded smooth and soothing reciting like that and it was calming to listen to.

I flushed and hastily withdrew, adding quickly, "It's not what you think. Being able to remember doesn't mean I automatically understood it. I could read about a theory and be able to recite it but I might not understand what it means. Does that make sense?"

Bucky blinked. "I guess that's true. Hey, have you made bread before?" I nodded. "Then you know how to knead dough."

I stepped up to the dough and began to work it, kneading and folding and working it as I waited for it to get smooth and stretchy.

"After that gets to where it needs to be we can put it in an oiled bowl and cover it to let it rise," Bucky explained. He looked around and scowled at the ingredients spread across the counter. "Now, only question is where did I put the oil? Did I even get it out?" he mumbled to himself, and walked over to the cabinet, his back away from me. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the oil half-hidden behind a large can of tomato paste. I opened my mouth to tell Bucky I found it, and it all happened instinctively. My mind stretched out like it did when I reached for a person, only instead of latching onto the small node that was Bucky or Steve, it curled with more firmness than usual around the bottle of oil. My eyes widened as the bottle glowed ever-so-softly a dark purple color. I swallowed thickly and glanced from the bottle to where Bucky was digging through the cabinet and mumbling. I had a moment, and I turned my focus onto the bottle of oil. Like it was on a thread, I dragged that piece of me that was wrapped around it back towards me and my heart nearly stopped when the bottle slid jerkily across the counter. I gasped and my concentration faltered, the glow fading.

"Oh hey, you found it!" Bucky said, turning away from the cabinet and spotting it sitting by me. I felt frozen, terrified that he'd seen me move the bottle with my mind – I'd moved an object with my mind! – but he didn't seem to have seen it. He snatched up the bottle and smirked at me. "You were gonna just let me dig through the cabinet looking for it, huh?"

I licked my lips and replied with a voice that I hoped sounded normal, "I would have told you eventually."

"Uh huh," Bucky said with faux skepticism. "Sure you would have."

The dough was set aside to rise as Bucky taught me how to make the sauce from onions, garlic, tomato paste, and various spices.

"You have a pretty impressive collection of spices," I noted. He and Steve even had a spice rack, an item I had never seen in the home of a bachelor, let alone two.

"Well, when you can only make a couple dishes, you have to change things up however you can," Steve commented as he set the newspaper aside and walked to the kitchen, leaning against the wall. Bucky gave him a pointed look.

"Why don't you learn some new recipes then, pal?"

"Wouldn't want to kick my housewife out of the kitchen," Steve teased. I looked from Steve to Bucky and smirked faintly.

"Hm, if we got him a little pink apron."

Steve's eyes lit with amusement as he continued, "Maybe some hair curlers?"

"I'll see if I can find him some lipstick and a nice skirt."

Bucky gave us both betrayed looks. "Come on, really? You're going to team up with Steve against me?" He pointed at the sauce-smeared dough ready and waiting for toppings. "I'm teaching you to make pizza!"

I licked my lips. "A nice pair of pumps," I pronounced carefully, fighting a smile off my face. Bucky groaned and threw up his hands.

"That's it, no pizza for either of you!"

In the end he relented and, when the pizza came out of the oven, he cut it in half and gave me one while he kept the other for himself and Steve to have for dinner. I donned my coat and draped my scarf loosely around my throat more for convenience than for the sake of cold seeing as I was just going next door.

"Thank you for that, James," I said gratefully as I tucked the index card with the recipe on it into my pocket. "I'll add it to my cookbook when I get home."

"You don't just remember all your recipes?" Bucky teased. I huffed a laugh.

"I do, but recipes are a sacred thing where I'm from. I know women who have gone to their grave with their recipes. They're collected to be passed on."

Bucky smiled faintly, and it was a lot more serious of a smile than I'd ever seen him have before. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. "Well, I'm glad to have contributed. Go home before your pizza gets cold," he urged, plucking the collar of my coat before pulling his hand away.

"Good night, Steve," I called uncertainly, looking from my shoulder to Bucky as I left.

I was thinking about that bottle of oil when I carried our half of the pizza into our apartment and saw Nessie sitting on the couch with her legs bare and her feet tucked up under her. She looked up at me and smiled when I walked in.

"Smells delicious, Della!" she said happily, and patted the seat beside her on the couch. "Come on, we can use our hands and eat while we talk. Something amazing happened today and I…" Her expression faltered and she looked me over curiously. "Are you… okay?" she asked uncertainly.

I shook my head, because I honestly didn't know if I was okay or not at this point. I looked down at my coat and, like I had in Bucky's kitchen, I reached out with my mind and folded my thoughts around the buttons on my coat. They glowed the same dark purple, showing up well against the dark fabric. Nessie gasped and her hands flew up to cover her mouth when the buttons slid out of the holes and the coat sagged open on my shoulders.

"Oh my god," she breathed, the magnitude of what I'd just done seeming to hang in the air. "What did you just… how did you… when did you…?"

"Just now," I explained. "Bucky was looking in the cabinet for the oil and I saw it. I didn't mean to do it. I reached out like I do when I'm going to put a thought in someone's head. I wasn't trying to, but my mind sort of… of folded around it and I… I pulled, and the bottle moved."

I looked down and focused on the plate of pizza. It glowed too and floated over to rest on the table in front of the couch. I turned my attention to the kitchen and tried to focus on the towels in the drawer, in pulling them out and bringing them in here to use as napkins. But it was like I was trying to grab water with my thoughts. It caught and then slipped away. Trying again, I focused on the handle of the drawer and I was able to grip it as easily as I had the buttons on my coat or the plate. The sound of the drawer opening could be heard from the kitchen, but I still couldn't get a towel to come floating in.

"You don't have to see it, either!" Nessie gasped, sounding awed.

"I think," I said slowly. "That it's not so much whether I see it or not, it's a matter of knowing exactly what and where it is. I can't make a towel come in here from the drawer because I don't know which towel is on top or where exactly in the drawer it is. But I know where the drawer handle is and what it looks like."

Nessie's face was pale and she looked almost afraid as she asked, "Do you think that whatever happened to us it's still happening."

I bit my lip. There was no good answer for that. We had no idea who the man in the diner was aside from a last name and no idea what was in his case, what it was meant to do, what it had actually done. Every bit of what we'd figured out thus far was a matter of guesswork and dumb luck.

"It's only a theory," I said slowly. "But I think I have, hypothetically, always been able to do this. I just needed to work out the exact method. You may be able to do more than light yourself on fire and dissociate into heat."

Nessie blinked. "Do more? Like what?"

"No idea," I admitted, and shucked my coat the rest of the way, hanging it up by the door. I walked over to the couch and sat down wearily next to her, tugging my shoes off and mirroring her position. "You could be able to… breathe fire, or throw fireballs. Perhaps even manipulate already existing fire instead of just producing it."

"Jesus," Nessie breathed. "How would we find out? Do we just have to try?"

I nodded. "I don't know a better way. And I think we should start experimenting a little."

Nessie looked at me nervously. "You sure? You really think that's a good idea?"

"I don't know," I said in frustration, reaching up and beginning to unpin my hair. "I don't know a whole lot about any of this, about what's been done to us. I'm not a scientist. But I think it's best we know exactly what we can and can't do and how to do it so that we avoid anything like what happened today. What would have happened if Bucky hadn't been facing the other way?" I proposed, and Nessie shuddered.

"I mean… I don't think Bucky and Steve would tell anyone if we asked them not to," she said, but she sounded uncertain.

"But you don't know," I replied, and she had to nod in agreement. I relaxed back against the couch wearily and closed my eyes, fanning my hair around my shoulders. I let out a long, cleansing breath.

"I'm going to look into the local library," I mused aloud. "Science was never my favorite subject. If I can get my hands on magazines and try to figure out what's going on as far as new developments, maybe it would help me figure out what's happened to us, or at least give me a better idea of where to look."

Nessie gave a shaky lap and picked up and piece of pizza from the plate, offering it to me. I took it gratefully and bit into it, chewing tiredly. "And I thought I had important news today."

I blinked, recalling that Steve had said Nessie wanted to talk to me. Honestly, in the wake of everything I'd forgotten. "That's right, Steve said you had news. You went to his art class to drop off his atomizer and ended up modeling?"

Nessie nodded, smiling. Some color was starting to return to her face and her eyes were sparkling again, which was a good sign that she was calming down and cheering up now that she had heard all I had to say about our abilities. "The man who was teaching asked me to model for the whole project, for a week of classes."

"And you agreed," I guessed with confidence.

"I did. And he's not going to pay me. But," she stressed, "he's going to put me in touch with a former student of his who is one of the top photographers in the city. He said he'd get me two free hours with him in exchange for my time!"

I blinked. "And why did he think some time with a photographer would be interesting to you?" I asked blankly.

"He wanted a dancer and he heard Steve and I talking about how I wanted to be a dancer," Nessie explained. "And he said that his friend would take pictures and put together a proper portfolio of head shots and glamour shots for me so that I might actually be able to book a professional job!" she finished excitedly.

I stared at her. I knew that we both had an interest in performing and Nessie had always been a little more of an optimist in terms of that ever actually happening where I was, as always, a realist. This would definitely help her out if she wanted to really pursue this. She actually had a shot too, now that we were in a city that had opportunities for dancers.

"Well that's good then," I said, a smile slowly spreading across my face. "And this is sure to make it easier to break into the business for you!"

"For us," Nessie corrected, and began to clarify, "One hour for me, one hour for you. You could really be a singer. On a stage, in front of an audience, instead of just in the shower or while you clean," she stressed, reaching out and resting a hand on my arm encouragingly.

I shook my head. "No, I don't want to take your time. This is a good opportunity for you, and besides, I'm not good enough to-"

"Yeah, and I don't think I'm a good enough dancer to ever have any kind of career, but you say that I am," Nessie informed me sternly. "Trust me, you're good. You really are."

"What would be the point?" I countered, and gestured to my damaged right arm. "It's not like people want a charred girl on stage."

Nessie threw up her hands in exasperation. "Well then, even if we don't ever become fabulously successful, it would be nice to have some good pictures made of us," Nessie reasoned.

"And why is that?" I asked drily.

"So that when we're old and wrinkled and drooling we can show them to our grandchildren and say 'look what a catch your grandmother used to be,'" Nessie chuckled, tossing a cushion my direction. I caught it and tucked it to my chest.

"Grandchildren necessitates children, which usually require getting married," I pointed out. "I am determined that only the deepest love will induce me into matrimony. So, I shall end an old maid, and teach your ten children to embroider cushions and play their instruments very ill." Nessie narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"You're quoting something. I don't know what but you're definitely quoting."

"Pride and Prejudice," I admitted. "But the point still stands. But maybe it wouldn't be the worst experience in the world," I agreed. "For the sake of proving a point to my hypothetical grandchildren."

"Great!" Nessie beamed, and hugged me tightly. "It might even be fun, right Della? You remember fun?" she teased, and this time I launched the cushion at her.


End file.
